


A Light that Burns

by forestgreen



Series: Light Burns [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics), Midnighter (Comics), Midnighter and Apollo (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Slavery, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Bondage, Branding, Collars, Conditioning, Creampie, Double Anal Penetration, Felching, Forced Bonding, Forced Orgasm, Foursome - M/M/M/M, Humiliation, M/M, Manipulation, Mild Cock & Ball Torture, Multi, Multiple Orgasms, Overstimulation, Public Humiliation, Rimming, Sexual Slavery, Spitroasting, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:33:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26649070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forestgreen/pseuds/forestgreen
Summary: "Who did this one kill?" Slade asks, looking through the window at the bound slave the guards are wrestling out of the prison cart.
Relationships: Apollo/Midnighter, Apollo/Midnighter/Slade Wilson, Apollo/Midnighter/Slade Wilson/Jason Todd, Apollo/Slade Wilson, Jason Todd/Slade Wilson
Series: Light Burns [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2123847
Comments: 50
Kudos: 154
Collections: DCU Rarepair Exchange 2020, Jason Todd Rare Pair Challenge





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scandalsavage](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scandalsavage/gifts).



> To Scandal, I hope this story can give back at least some of the joy your own stories have brought me. Don't let the wordcount fool you, this is 90% porn and 10% plot, give or take. 
> 
> As always, my thanks go to the lovely Akelios for holding my hand, pushing me to keep writing and being the best enabler and beta-reader any writer could want. All remaining mistakes are mine.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Who did this one kill?" Slade asks, looking through the window at the bound slave the guards are wrestling out of the prison cart.

Apollo suppresses the urge to cringe. "Maybe he didn't kill anyone," he protests feebly.

Midnighter snorts, which is unfair. Apollo isn't a deviant who only enjoys feral slaves. He doesn't care what the Council of Justice whispers behind his back. It's just that… if he doesn't buy them, they end up on the executioner's block. Few people want slaves who killed their former masters, even when it's the master's cruelty that drove the poor things to madness.

Slade and Midnighter should know better than to mock him for it. Apollo saved them from a similar fate. Still, it's only with some reluctance that he admits, "Lord Napier."

"The Joker is dead?" Slade whistles.

"Good riddance," Midnighter adds with too much gusto.

"Mid," Apollo rebukes him gently, and squeezes Midnighter's hand.

"You can't tell me anyone is sad that that monster's gone, Master," Midnighter grumbles, pulling at his hand until Apollo lets him go. 

"What's with the muzzle?" Slade asks.

Apollo sighs. They are going to find out sooner or later anyway. "He ripped out Lord Napier's throat with his teeth."

Midnighter chortles. "He and I will get along just fine." Midnighter didn't use his teeth when he killed Lord Bendix but the results were just as bloody.

Maybe the Council is right and there's something wrong with Apollo, because he isn't afraid. Not of Midnighter. Not of Slade. Certainly not of this boy. All he feels is a deep, blazing anger at the injustice of it all. Some people shouldn't be allowed to keep slaves.

Slade leans forward to better watch the ongoing struggle. "His form's a bit lacking, but he has potential. Someone started training him as a shield. Midnighter and I can finish it."

"Ferals can't be shields. You know that," Apollo says.

"We've been marked as ferals and we're shields." Slade's lips twitch into smirk. "What the Council doesn't know, won't hurt them."

"You _were_ shields," Apollo corrects him. "You're gems now. _My_ gems."

Slade huffs with disdain. "Of course, I forgot. My bad."

Apollo moves faster than Slade can react and slams him against the wall, capturing his wrists and pinning them above his head. Slade struggles instinctively, decades of training as a shield impossible to ignore, but even with his magical enhancements, he's no match against Apollo's strength.

With one hand, he holds Slade's wrists together and slides the other beneath Slade's tunic grabbing his cock. "I'm an indulgent master, darling, but don't mistake indulgence for gullibility." He fondles Slade as he speaks. "Me allowing you to train with Midnighter doesn't make you a shield. It's a privilege that I grant and can strip away just as easily. Lets try this again, shall we? What are you?"

"A slave," Slade hisses through clenched teeth. 

Apollo closes his fist tighter, yanking a yelp out of Slade, and strokes slowly up, grip painful. "What type of slave?"

Slade bites his lips, eye falling shut in a useless attempt to control his reactions. His cock speaks for him, firming under Apollo's touch, rising for its master. "A shield," Slade grunts.

"Oh, darling, you do need a reminder," Apollo chides. "Your words. Chant them for me."

Slade meets Apollo's gaze defiantly, and his face contorts with hate. "I am my Master’s shield. I exist to fight. To my Master’s will only shall I yield. To spill my blood is his right. My life is his to wield." Nothing happens, of course--it hadn't since the Council took away his shield status three years ago--Slade knows it, but his face crumbles with sorrow anyway.

Apollo kisses his forehead and ignores it when Slade turns away. He mouths against Slade's temple, "Always so stubborn. The magic won't respond. That isn't who you are any longer." He speeds up his strokes, twisting on the upstroke and squeezing when he pulls down until precome starts to leak, wetting Apollo's hand. "Look how quickly you rise for me, darling. Shields don't get hard when someone pins them against a wall, do they?" He sends a pulse of magic through the slave's bond and orders, "Come!"

Slade does. He shudders and bites his lips to stop any noise from spilling. Apollo strokes him through his orgasm, milking him dry, and then he goes on, ignoring the little pained moans in the back of Slade's throat, the way he tries to flinch back from the punishing rhythm. His cock rises again. The magical enhancements meant to turn him into the perfect shield, working against him. Apollo tears four orgasms out of him within minutes of each other when Slade finally gives.

"Please, Master," he rasps out. "Please." Tears bead in the corner of his eye. The intensity of the sensations too much to bear, even for him. 

"Your words, darling. Chant them," Apollo demands, "or I'll keep making you come." He speeds up the strokes, dipping into his own magic to make his hand inhumanly fast. "Maybe that's what you want. A dirty, greedy gem who can't get enough of his master's touch. Deny it all you want, darling, but we both know that you crave it. What are you?"

"A gem," Slade breaks, coming a fifth time into Apollo's hand. "I am my Master’s gem," he chants, and the magic starts to gather in his chest. He hardens again. "I exist to answer his desire. His is the right to kindle my fire." Apollo's mark comes to life in his chest, its bright light shining through the thin layer of Slade's white tunic, highlighting its golden embroidery. "To my Master's feet only shall I kneel; my pain and my pleasure his to wield." The spell peaks and its magic crashes into Slade, giving his life purpose.

Few are the slaves capable of resisting the insidious power of the binding chant. Its constant repetition reshapes their will, until the only thing they are is what the spell makes them. Apollo uses the binding only on rare occasions, preferring to make his boys yield without the aid of magic, but he's aware that sometimes they need its help. A slave who questions his life's purpose can never be truly happy.

The front of Slade's tunic is soaked through with come, turning the thin white silk almost translucent. The cloth clings to Slade's spent cock, leaving little to the imagination. Apollo kneads Slade's balls gently, and traces the underside of his cock, encouraging it to fill again.

"Master," Slade whimpers.

"Hush, darling, just a little longer," Apollo soothes him. "I want my pretty gem to glow." It takes a while for Slade's cock to harden enough that when Apollo lets go, it stays up, straining against the wet silk, tenting the short tunic. 

Apollo cleans his hand on Slade's face and beard. "There," he says, stepping back and letting go of Slade's writs. "Perfect."

He stops Slade before the slave can wipe away the come clinging to his cheeks. "None of that now. The guards will be joining us any moment. You don't want them to confuse you with a shield, do you?"

Slade's face flushes red, but with the spell still tingling through his veins it is easier for him to swallow his innate defiance. "No, Master."

Apollo beams at him and turns to Midnighter, who's been pointedly ignoring them the whole time. "What about you, love? Do you need a reminder, too?"

Midnighter clenches his fists and swallows. "No, Master. I'm your gem. I haven't forgotten."

"Good. What's taking them so long?" He'd been counting on the guards coming in while he was pleasuring Slade. It would have cemented the lesson further. His former mistress had lent Slade to the City Guard as a trainer. His reputation as one of the best shields in the Empire encouraging the officers to ignore the slave's collar around his neck. Slade, the shield, had been respected by the soldiers. Slade, the gem, wouldn't be.

"The boy. He managed to knock down two guards," Midnighter explains with a grin. "The other four rushed him together and managed to subdue him. Not too impressive given the boy is bound and shackled. You missed quite a fight," he tells Slade.

"I'll wait until Master buys the next feral, then," Slade gripes. "At the rate he's progressing, it won't take that long."

The front door's bell saves Apollo from having to find a proper response. "Slade, let the guards in," he orders. "And darling, if you disobey me in front of them, I'll tie you to the table and let each and every one of the guards use you like the gem you are while you chant your pretty words for us. Is that clear?"

Slade lowers his head. "Yes, Master." 

"Good, go ahead, then, bring them in."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The new slave is unconscious and covered in blood, when the guards drag him in and throw him at Apollo's feet. "You should have let the Council put this one down, my Lord," the Sergeant says, kicking the slave's prone form. "He's a rabid dog."

"I like rabid dogs." Apollo suppresses the urge to scold the man for his senseless brutality towards the unconscious slave. The boy is not yet Apollo's. "Did you bring the writ of ownership?"

"Yes, my Lord. Here." He hands Apollo a sealed scroll.

Apollo touches the seal and a small spark of magic flares up. The wax melts under his touch. He reads the contents slowly, half his attention on Slade.

"Fuck, who'd have thought there was a gem hiding under that shield," one of the guards whispers, his eyes fixed on the tented wet silk of Slade's tunic. His voice is not meant to carry, but Apollo knows that Slade's and Midnighter's enhanced senses hear him as easily as Apollo does. 

"Should have given him some cock to gag on back then instead of listening to him bark orders," the other guard whispers back. "Bet he'd've liked that. Gems always do."

The slave bond pulses with rage. "Slade, darling," Apollo says casually, loud enough for everyone to hear. "You're starting to flag. Fix it."

Slade glares at him with loathing. His gaze goes to Midnighter next--no help from that quarter, Mid knows better by now--and then his shoulders sag. His cheeks burn as his hand slides under his tunic to close around his softening cock.

The guards gasp hungrily, even the Sergeant ignores Apollo to watch.

"By the gods, look at him go," the first guard says, not bothering to lower his voice this time. "Quite the _death stroke_ he got there." The others chuckle meanly. It emboldens him. "He's not just a gem, guys. He's a _ruby_. Look how red he is." The men laugh louder.

"The papers seem to be in order," Apollo tells the Sergeant, who hums absently, mesmerized by the fluttering of the tunic covering Slade's hand.

"Slade," Apollo calls. "Come over here, darling."

Slade stops at once, hand dropping to his side, fingers wet with come. If he had the power, he'd murder Apollo like he did his former mistress. He stops in front of the unconscious slave, glaring at Apollo. 

"Bend down and check if the slave is alive. I'm not paying good gold for a dead gem."

Slade's face contorts with fury, perfectly aware that Apollo is able to hear the boy's steady heartbeat just like he can. Apollo remains still and waits, unfazed by the silent promise of death Slade knows better than to word.

"Just do it," Midnighter whispers, so low that only the three of them can hear it.

Another moment stretches between them like an eternity before Slade starts to lower himself.

"Your master told you to bend, Ruby, not crouch," the guard from before jeers. "By the gods, gems are useless unless you stuff them with cock."

Slade freezes. Some of his fury melts and desperation takes its place when he glances at Apollo.

Apollo ignores it. "You heard the man, darling. _Bend._ "

It probably would have been easier for him to bend, check the kid's pulse and come back up. But Slade's reluctance slows down his movement into a long tease that has the guards shuffling closer, hungrily watching as the short tunic slides slowly up, unveiling inch after inch of Slade's ass.

"He's so smooth," one guard whispers, awed. "I've heard gems can't grow hair, but I never imagined what it'd look like. His balls are smoother than a baby's."

"Is that come? His inner thighs are drenched," another guard pants.

"Damn right it is, Gael," the loud guard from earlier chortles. "Gems are worse than whores. You gotta pay a whore to get them to spread, but Ruby here just _loves_ it."

"You think his ass is as smooth?" the first man asks breathlessly, shifting closer.

"Show him, darling," Apollo says. "Spread your asscheeks for them."

"That's right, Ruby, show us that hungry hole of yours," the loud guard mocks. The room reeks with the men's arousal. 

Maybe it's the fresh binding at work, or Apollo's earlier threat, or just the desire for it to be finally over, but Slade lets go of the unconscious slave after only the barest hesitation, grabs his ass with both hands and pulls his cheeks apart, exposing himself to the ogling guards.

"By the gods, it _is_ ," the first guard pants, voice rough with desire. Poor man has likely never even seen a hairless cunt in his life. Common guards don't earn enough to afford a groomer for their wives, not that a groomer could manage the perfect hairlessness of a gem. Magic like that is too expensive. 

"Not so mighty now without your leather and armor, are you, Ruby? Just another fuckhole begging for cock."

Apollo couldn't have found a bigger moron if he'd searched. The man is perfect.

"Look at that," he jeers, pointing at Slade, "his pucker just winked at me." He laughs. "There it goes again." The other guards laugh with him. "Poor Ruby must feel so empty." He presses a finger against Slade's asshole.

His next breath is a scream. Slade's foot slams into the guard's groin without warning. He rises and twists, crashing his fist into the man's ribs. The cracking sound of bones breaking is followed by another ear-piercing shout. Another kick and the man smashes into the far wall, crumbling to the floor, dazed.

The other guards finally start to react, getting their clubs out. One of them is stupid enough to try and rush Slade, but Midnighter is there. A fist rams into his mouth and blood and teeth splash out.

"Enough," Apollo snaps. "Midnighter, Slade, heel!"

Midnighter stops at once, fist raised midway to hit another guard. He shoves the man he's holding to the floor with enough force that he slams his head against the edge of a table and loses consciousness. To anyone not aware of the fighting spells Lord Bendix wove into Midnighter, it might have looked random. Apollo knows better. He also knows that five years ago all men would be dead. 

Progress.

The remaining guards scramble away from Midnighter as he walks towards Apollo. He continues to glare at them as he kneels to Apollo's right.

"Slade," Apollo says softly. "I gave you an order."

Slade is holding the offending guard by his hair, one naked foot pressing into the man's broken ribs, grinding the bones down with his enhanced force. The man is clutching at Slade's arm uselessly, trying to get him to ease his grip. Slade's eye catches Apollo's, and the bond churns with apprehension before Slade batters it down, shutting off his emotions as much as the magic allows him.

He takes his foot off of the man's ribs and pries away the hand still clutching at him. He glances at Apollo again and swallows, fists clenching and unclenching. His glowers at the guard and kicks the man's side once more, before he finally turns and walks to Apollo. Deliberately slow, he takes his place at Apollo's left side, keeping his head high as he kneels. 

Apollo ruffles Slade's white hair fondly, letting his hand brush down the man's cheek. His fingers slide against something wet and slimy, either come or blood. Apollo doesn't bother to check. He presses them to Slade's lips and after a brief hesitation the older man licks them clean dutifully.

"Did you check the slave's pulse as I told you to, darling?" Apollo asks him.

Slade stops his licking. "Yes, Master. The slave is alive."

"Excellent." Apollo turns to the Sergeant. "Everything seems to be right." He touches the end of the scroll and the letters of his name write themselves into the writ. "There you go, Sergeant." He hands the scroll back to him. "The gold will be delivered as agreed. That will be all."

"That'll be all?" The man gapes at him. "Aren't you going to punish him?" He scowls at Slade.

Apollo resumes his absent petting, allowing a small smile to grace his lips. "I'm well known for being an indulgent, forgiving lord, Sergeant. Surely you know that."

"There's indulgence and there's _this_ ," the man snaps, straightening his back. "I demand he be punished."

"You demand?" Apollo echoes. "Well, if you _demand_. Slade, darling, break the man's arm."

For the most part, Apollo dislikes violence, but there's something breathtaking about Slade unleashed. Apollo's superior senses allow him to see every detail as the older slave springs to his feet and crosses the room faster than human eyes can follow. For the guards it must be like a series of disconnected images flashing before their eyes faster than their mundane minds can grasp. Slade kneeling at Apollo's side one moment, standing next to guard the next. The blink of an eye and the man's forearm is already broken, bone tearing through muscle and flesh, blood pouring everywhere. Another blink and Slade is kneeling again at Apollo's feet, the fresh blood on his slave tunic the only proof that he moved at all. 

Apollo waits a moment to allow the guards to process what just happened. "Is that enough punishment for you, Sergeant? Or shall I have my gem bring my sword to remove your man's hand for his presumption?"

The Sergeant pales, suddenly remembering that whatever Slade might have been before, he _is_ a gem now.

A free man might touch a shield or plow or a rag, but never a lord's gem. Not without permission. Gems can be admired and coveted. Men can dream of that impossible day on which they will amass enough gold, power and magic to finally own one, but they _cannot_ touch them. Even fellow lords know to ask for permission first or face a duel.

"Well?" Apollo prompts.

The man looks as if he's about to be sick. His eyes dart to Slade with terror, before he looks at Apollo again, mouth opening and closing a couple of times. "I--Yes, my lord. That's… uh… That's punishment enough," he stammers at last.

"Are you certain, Sergeant? You seemed to find my propensity towards indulgence offensive."

"No, my lord! Of course not," the Sargent reassures him. "We thank you for it. I--we--Thank you, my lord."

"Master?" Slade tugs at Apollo's toga.

"Yes, darling?" Apollo asks.

"I'm starting to flag again." His eye is alight with mischief.

Apollo smiles down at him. "Are you now? Well, we can't have that, can we? Plump yourself up for me."

"Thank you, Master." He doesn't hide beneath the tunic this time, but pushes it aside, revealing his thick uncut cock. Even half limp its size is impressive. Lady Hive enhanced Slade to be a shield but she had been very generous with her magic in other areas as well.

Slade strokes himself and moans, pushing his hips up as if he can't get enough. Apollo swallows a bark of laughter at his theatrics. The Sergeant’s face is flaming red. He keeps glancing at Slade's massive cock and then tearing his eyes away. The other guards aren't faring much better.

"Master," Midnighter asks, voice artificially breathless. "May I touch myself, too?"

They are going to be the death of him. Apollo is tempted to call his bluff. Mid loathes being put on display even more than Slade does. "You'll have to wait a bit, love." He wipes some drops of blood from Mid's jaw, enjoying the scratch of stubble against his fingers.

The Council had insisted both Midnighter and Slade kept their facial hair to show everyone their status as ferals. Mostly, it had been an attempt to anger Apollo by marring the beauty of his gems. And Apollo had been angry at the time, but he loves it now. It makes them special. Unique. A reminder to others that his gems could and _have_ killed, that if it weren't for Apollo's iron control over them, they would do it again.

It's difficult to tear his attention away from Midnighter when he's looking at Apollo with such heat in his eyes. "Sergeant, do you need something else or are you done?" he asks. "As you see, I have gems to tend to."

"We--We're done, my lord." The Sergeant clutches the scroll without looking at it and steps back, almost tripping over the unconscious slave. "Everything is in order." He barks his orders and the guards hurry to gather their unconscious comrade and the insolent idiot who dared touch Apollo's property. 

"Stay," Apollo tells Midnighter and Slade, tugging softly at their hair. 

He accompanies the guards to the door and opens it for them. It's a gem's duty not a lord's, but he's aware that that little taste of violence has Slade and Midnighter eager to cause more trouble. There's been enough bloodshed for one day.

When he returns, he pauses, taking in the sight. Slade has stopped moaning. His hands are clasped behind his back and his tunic is back in place, for what little good it does with Slade's hard cock lifting it up so enticingly. Midnighter is splattered with blood. He hadn't even fought that much. How did he manage to get blood everywhere?

The two of them tense when Apollo walks closer. He stops in front of Slade and presses his forefinger against the tip of Slade's nose, gently forcing the older man to lift his head and meet Apollo's gaze. "What are you?"

"Your gem, Master," Slade answers promptly.

"Do you need to repeat your chant?" Ah, there it is. That little flutter of apprehension.

"If you want me to, Master," Slade says deferentially.

Apollo gives a little hum of approval and drops his hand. "The first two lines, then."

"I am my Master’s gem. I exist to answer his desire." The magic starts to gather.

"Again."

"I am my Master’s gem. I exist to answer his desire," Slade breathes, a small shiver traveling through him.

"Again."

"I am my Master’s gem. I exist to answer his desire," Slade repeats and the moan that breaks past his lips is heartfelt this time.

It's a cruel thing to leave the spell unfinished, the magic tingling everywhere in the slave's body with no place to go. But it's a master's duty to find the proper balance between forbearance and severity. Slaves need guidance or they start to flounder. 

Apollo pinches Slade's chin with his fingers. "I don't _desire_ to have to remind you of your place again, darling. See that you don't forget it."

"Yes, Master," Slade says. "I won't."

"Good." He lets go of Slade's chin, steps back and studies his gems. "No sparring or training for either of you for a week."

"What?" Midnighter throws him an angry look. "I didn't do anything. The guards got what they deserved."

"A fortnight then," Apollo corrects.

"That's not fair!" Midnighter hisses.

"A month." Mid makes it so easy.

"Bu--"

"Shut up, idiot," Slade hisses at him. "We understand, Master, and we thank you for your mercy."

"Mid, anything else you want to add?" Apollo asks with a smile.

Midnighter glares at him churlishly. "No, Master. Thank you, Master. You're too kind, Master. We don't deserve you, Master. Whatever you say, Master."

Apollo snorts. He caresses Mid's face with the back of his fingers. "The Council _is_ right. I indulge you both too much." He shakes his head, amused despite himself. "Go warn the rags that a new feral is joining the household and bring the supplies for the binding. Slade, darling, take the slave to the baths. We'll join you shortly. And do clean yourself up, you're a mess."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	2. Chapter 2

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Finally," Slade snaps when Apollo and Midnighter enter the baths. "What took so long?" His hair is wet from washing and the smell of come no longer clings to him. He's put on a fresh tunic, too.

The new slave is awake. Slade's keeping him prone against the floor tiles, a foot pressed into his upper back. The boy twists and twitches against the floor like a butterfly pinned to a collector's cushion. His useless struggles increase when he sees them, and angry, guttural noises rise from behind the muzzle. Slade digs his heel deeper into the boy's spine, holding him down with ease.

At Apollo's signal Midnighter sets the supplies for the binding against the wall, where the slave won't be able to see them.

"Let the boy up," Apollo tells Slade. "Mid, help him."

"He doesn't need help," Mid grouses, but goes to Slade anyway. This is as hard a test for him as bending for the guards was for Slade. The years spent hurting and killing other slaves in Lord Bendix's illegal fighting pits still haunt Midnighter. He'll rip apart any free man who comes too close if Apollo isn't there to control him, but he loathes hurting fellow slaves.

As soon as Slade removes his foot, the boy tries to roll around and kick, but Mid is ready for him. Between the two of them, they do a good job of immobilizing the boy. Slade holds him by his hair and bound arms, forcing him into an uncomfortable arch that stops any further attempts to head-butt them. The slave isn't small. Whatever Lord Napier did to him--and Apollo doesn't want to imagine what that was--starvation wasn't part of it. Nonetheless, compared to Midnighter's and Slade's enhanced bodies, he looks surprisingly fragile.

Midnighter lowers the hook from the ceiling first and then presses himself against the slave's front, trapping him with his body so that Slade can let go of him. Slade unclasps the chain keeping the boy's cuffed wrists together behind his back and helps Midnighter turn the slave around. The boy growls, struggling against Midnighter's hold, trying to kick despite the lack of leverage. With a quick motion, Slade ties the cuffs together in front of the boy and attaches them to the lowered hook, closing its latch. He pulls the hook back up and Midnighter lets go, leaving the boy dangling from the ceiling, toes barely touching the ground.

The slave's heartbeat jumps when Apollo moves closer and his snarls turn into terrified little whimpers. He's shaking so hard that the chains rattle with the movement. His pupils are blown wide with fear, only the barest hint of blue surrounding the dark circles.

"I know you're scared," Apollo tells the boy in a soft voice, "but nothing is going to happen to you. I'm Lord Apollo, you're mine now. I treat my slaves with kindness. No one is going to hurt you again. You're safe."

The slave doesn't believe him. They never do at first. His heartbeat is so loud that even a non-enhanced human might be able to hear it. The poor thing is close to having a panic attack, but there's not much Apollo can do about that. The first days are always the worst, especially for ferals. The toxic magic of the destroyed bond burning through their veins like acid. The binding spell is designed to hurt when broken. A slave's biggest fear should always be to be masterless. Even non-ferals live in terror of failing their masters and being sold. Those few hours masterless while the property papers are transferred enough to give many of them nightmares for weeks if not months.

It takes a special kind of strength for a slave to actively break the bond, and even more not to die from the backlash. It's why ferals are so rare and why the Council of Justice would much rather exterminate them than sell them to another lord. But Apollo is the Head of the Mage Authority and even the Council thinks twice before denying him. As Head of the Mages Apollo understands the workings of the binding magic better than most. A slave has to be pushed beyond reason, beyond endurance, beyond pain, beyond terror in order to break the bond.

Despite what the Council would like to believe, ferals aren't failed slaves, but the result of failed masters.

"Steady him," Apollo tells Midnighter. The boy's going to dislocate his shoulders if he continues thrashing like that.

Mid moves behind the boy and holds his hips, stopping the flailing. "He's right you know," Mid says. "Whatever Joker did to you, it's not gonna happen again. You're free of that monster. He's dead. You freed yourself from him."

"Mid," Apollo chides him, but the boy's heartbeat does slow down some at the words.

The slave gives a loud sob, and tears well up in his eyes and run down his cheeks, drenching the leather of the muzzle, darkening its bright red color into a brownish burgundy. The boy goes slack against the chains, ceasing his struggles. Mid's grip on his hips tightens, stopping him from collapsing, taking some of the weight from his arms.

Apollo keeps making hushing noises as he moves closer. "I'm just going to remove the muzzle, all right?" he tells the boy, before touching his face.

The leather is cutting into the boy's cheeks, the buckle at the back pulled much too tight. The muzzle tingles against Apollo's fingers with magic. He recognizes the shape of the spell; only a lord can touch it. It opens for Apollo and he eases the hard leather from the boy's face.

The first thing that catches his attention is the slave's brand on the boy's cheek. The crude and ugly J Lord Napier used to mark his property. The second thing he notices is the spider gag keeping the boy's mouth wide open. It's a cruel device meant to hurt. The metal legs have been sharpened at the end and their tips pierce into the boy's skin. The slave's lips and chin are red with blood and spit.

For a moment Apollo thinks that this is Lord Napier's doing, too, until he remembers that the slave ripped the man's throat out with his teeth. This was done afterwards by the Council or the city guards. Both options anger him. The muzzle he can understand after what the boy did, but the gag is an unnecessary cruelty.

"Master, you need to calm down," Slade says.

Apollo looks at him, surprised. For a moment he'd forgotten the man was there. He'd forgotten they all were. All he could see was that gag, its rusty metal illuminated by the sharp sunlight shining through the windows. Except that… it's much too late in the afternoon for the sun to be that high. Oh, it's not the sun. It's him. Light is pouring from his hands and body, probably from his eyes, too. He closes them and takes a calming breath. In and out. In and out. Until he feels more in control.

When he opens his eyes, the slave is pressing against Midnighter's body, as far away from Apollo as the chains and Mid will allow. "Hush, sweetheart, I wasn't angry at you. Someone hurt you, and I don't like when others harm my things." He traces his forefinger around the gag until he finds the mechanism that will release it. The Council then. He recognizes that magic. Apollo pushes against it with more power than necessary and the gag breaks apart, bloodied pieces falling to the floor with a loud clank. Three prongs still pierce the slave's mouth and Apollo pulls them out carefully, hushing the boy while he works, promising him that it'll soon be over.

Letting his magic flow into the boy to heal the open wounds feels like a blessing. Something he does more for himself than the slave. He massages the boy's jaw slowly, once he's done, sending a slight pulse of magic to get the muscles there to relax. The boy closes his mouth as soon as Apollo lets go, pressing his lips together and eyeing Apollo with distrust.

Apollo ruffles his hair, amused despite himself. "Do you have a name?" he asks. 

The ownership transfer papers never include past names. Officially, slaves aren't allowed to own anything, not even a name. It's up to the master to gift slaves with one, should they feel like it, but Apollo always preferred to grant his slaves the choice to keep their old names if they have one.

The slave growls at him. Does he even remember how to talk? Was Lord Napier the kind of master who enjoyed keeping his slaves non-verbal? It wouldn't surprise Apollo at all.

"It's all right," Apollo reassures the boy. "You don't have to tell me right away." He'll give the slave a couple of days to settle. Once the new bond is established the boy will be more himself again. If he still doesn't talk by then, Apollo will think of a name to give the poor thing. He ruffles the boy's hair a final time and backs away, signaling Slade to come closer. "Strip him. I want to assess the damage."

The boy struggles when Slade walks closer, but with his feet dangling in the air and Midnighter holding him in place there's not much he can do.

"Don't be such a brat," Slade tells him. "This is gonna happen whether you like it or not. You might as well behave." There's no sympathy in his voice, but Apollo wasn't expecting it.

The slave snarls, baring his teeth as though he's forgotten what it means to be human. "Oh, the puppy is angry at me," Slade mocks the boy. "I'm so scared." He pats the boy's right cheek, more a slight tap than an actual caress. An obnoxious gesture meant to rile the slave further up. Or a way to regain some control after his earlier humiliation.

The boy moves. Fast enough that despite Slade's enhanced reflexes, he manages to catch Slade's hand between his teeth before the older slave can move it away. He bites down. Hard. Slade howls and tries to jerk his hand away. The boy doesn't let go. Slade raises his other hand to slap him, but Apollo catches his forearm before the hand can connect.

"Don't you dare," he warns.

Midnighter is laughing so hard that he lets go of the boy to hold himself together.

Apollo sighs. Why do these things happen to him? He stares at the new slave sternly. "Let Slade's hand go," he orders. The boy won't obey, not with the broken bond clouding his sanity, but Apollo never uses magic to force a slave into compliance without giving them at least one chance to obey of their own free will.

The boy bites down harder, worrying his teeth into Slade's hand and then, just as suddenly as the bite began, he lets go. Apollo gapes, taken aback. Of all the things he'd been expecting, willing obedience--even if slightly delayed--was the last one. That's more progress in one day than Midnighter showed in his first month and the boy isn't bonded to him yet.

"Look at you, such a sweet obedient slave," Apollo coos. "Well done."

"Well done?" Slade complains, shaking his bleeding hand. "He fucking bit me."

The boy snarls at Slade in response and Mid laughs harder. "Please, tell me we're keeping him," he says once he's regained his breath.

Apollo loves the sound of that. _We_. "Of course we're keeping him," he says, and smiles indulgently at Midnighter. "Slade, show our boy your hand."

Slade mumbles angrily under his breath but he raises his hand. Apollo wipes the blood away so that the boy can watch the skin knit back together. "You can bite if you want," he tells the slave, "but it won't help you much. Slade and Midnighter will heal and if you try to bite me, you'll break your teeth. I know you're scared, but continue to behave and nothing bad will happen."

Slowly, he raises his hand and places his fingers over the boy's lips, caressing them softly. He's expecting the boy to snap despite Apollo's warning, but the boy stays still, clenching his lips tight. His Adam's apple bobbles up and down as he swallows. Apollo pushes this thumb between the boy's closed lips, coaxing them into opening.

The boy trembles, but when his mouth finally yields, it's the slave's tongue that curls around Apollo's fingers. Apollo explores the inside of his mouth, gently pushing his fingers in and out and in again. Tears fall silently down the boy's cheeks and his breath hitches but even though he reeks with fear when Apollo's fingers press further in, he doesn't bite.

"That's it, sweetheart, such a good boy," Apollo croons. "You're doing so well. See, that wasn't so difficult now, was it?" He takes his fingers away and kisses the boy's forehead, soft and careful.

"You're going to let Slade strip you so that we can bathe you and I can tend to your wounds," Apollo tells him. "And you're going to be a good boy for us, even if you're scared, aren't you?"

The boy shakes his head and then nods and then shakes his head again. His eyes dart from Slade to Apollo and back to Slade and it's painfully obvious that a part of him wants to obey but he's terrified of what will happen if he does.

"How about this?" Apollo offers, "Mid's gonna help you stay still. You may struggle if you want; I won't get angry."

"Yeah." Mid steps behind the boy and presses himself against the slave's back again, holding him up slightly to ease the weight off of his shoulders. "Fight if you must, kid." Then, he fake-whispers into the boy's ear, "If you manage to bite Slade again, I'm gonna give you my dessert."

"Midnighter, love, don't encourage him," Apollo protests halfheartedly.

"Oh, you're gonna pay for that," Slade promises. The new slave flinches. Slade chuckles and adds, "I'm not talking to _you_ , boy, but the big oaf behind you."

"Promises, promises, old man," Midnighter says, resting his chin on the slave's head. Even with the chains hefting the boy up a good inch from the ground, Mid towers over him.

"Slade, Midnighter, I want to finish before nightfall," Apollo tells them. "Stop yipping at each other and see to the boy."

Despite his earlier words, Mid holds the boy's head firmly when Slade approaches, stopping him from attacking. The older slave takes the thin, dirty tunic covering the boy and rips it open. 

"They worked you over hard, didn't they?" The boy's torso is covered with bruises and welts. His skin is caked with dried blood and dirt. The worst injuries are swollen and infected, but they're so old that they have to be a result of Lord Napier's handiwork.

"Fucking Joker," Slade hisses when he rips off the last pieces of tunic. "Gosh, puppy, that you can move at all, let alone fight with that thing on." He gives the slave an appreciative one over. "You're stronger than you look."

Bile rises in Apollo's throat when he sees the contraption around the boy's groin. It's a a barbed metal cage, much too small to be anything other than sheer torture. The wounds around the barbs are infected, too, and the skin of the slave's cock and balls is purple and swollen. A small sculpted joker's head, carved in green wood rises from the tip of the boy's urethra and Apollo doesn't want to find out how Napier fixed it there.

It's been at least twelve hours since Lord Napier's corpse was discovered. Even if the thing had been put on the boy minutes before, it's still twelve hours too long. Apollo pushes Slade to the side and crouches in front of the slave, studying the mechanism. He touches the joker's head softly and the boy screams and thrashes.

"Hold him still," he tells Midnighter.

The boy wails and pleads, "No, no, no, please. I'm sorry. Please," as he struggles.

He remembers how to talk, Apollo thinks, but it doesn't bring him the joy it should. "I have to take this thing off, sweetheart. You just need to bear the pain for a little bit."

The boy's beyond reasoning, thrashing and crying. But Midnighter knows how to immobilize him. Between him holding the slave's hips and Slade stopping his feet from kicking, the boy's effectively pinned. Apollo pulls softly on the joker's head and the boy shrieks. The slight resistance of tissue being scraped and torn makes him let go at once. There's a thin rod attached to the joker's head placed inside the boy's urethra. It, too, is made of green wood, but it has been left unpolished, probably on purpose. The small piece Apollo managed to pull free before he stopped is covered in blood. Apollo is going to be sick.

"That fucking bastard," Midnighter growls. "Someone should've killed him sooner."

"Change of plans," Apollo says, swallowing the desire to vomit. He usually takes his time settling new slaves, bathing them, healing them, speaking to them softly. That's not going to work with this boy. It doesn't matter how soft and gentle Apollo is, the pain he will have to inflict on the slave in order to heal him, is more than any human being, slave or not, should be asked to endure.

He stands up, and holds the boy's face between his hands. He's careful to avoid his mouth, but the boy's sobbing too hard to even attempt to bite. "Hush, it's all right, sweetheart. You don't have to hurt any more. _Sleep_." He infuses the last word with magic.

Light pours from his hands into the boy. It slithers like fog entering through the slave's open mouth, his nostrils, his ears, his eyes, taking hold of the boy's subconscious and bending it to Apollo's will. The slave chokes on it, trying uselessly to fight it. Apollo pours more magic into him and the boy's struggles weaken, tension seeping out of him like water from a cracked vase. His eyes flutter shut and after a couple of seconds he slumps into Mid's arms, sound asleep.

"Lower the chains," Apollo tells Slade, while he checks the slave's pulse, making sure it's still steady.

Between the three of them, they lower the boy and release the hook. 

"Where do you want him?" Midnighter asks.

"Put him on the massage table." 

Slade takes the slave from Midnighter's arms and carries him there. Completely naked on top of the white marble, the dirt and bruises covering him seem even worse than before. 

Apollo places a palm on the boy's burning forehead and extends his senses to gauge the damage. Abominable. Slade was right: it's a miracle the boy could move at all, let alone fight. Five broken ribs, a sprained ankle, internal bleeding, but the worst part are the boy's kidneys and bladder, swollen with some kind of infection. Compared to that, the bruises and cuts, even the damage caused by that heinous cock cage seem mild.

"I'm going to take this _thing_ off first and heal the damage." There's no point tackling the infections as long as the cage is on.

He has Midnighter and Slade prepare the bath while he works. He's never shied away from punishing slaves who misbehave, even though he avoids physical violence. In his opinion, only brutish lords resort to violence to enforce obedience. There are so many kinder ways to get a slave to comply. But what Lord Napier did to this boy was never meant as punishment. It's torture. Plain and simple. Blood and puss ooze from the boy's skin as he removes the barbed cage and the low sound of soft tissue ripping as he pulls the rod with the joker's head free makes his skin crawl.

Light leaps from his fingers, encasing the boy's damaged cock, Apollo's magic responding to his desire to stop the slave's suffering. He removes the wooden splinters and heals the damaged tissue in and out before he tackles the broken bones. It takes a lot out of him. Apollo's father's ease with healing magic didn't breed through. For all that as a younger man, he'd dreamed of being a healer, Apollo's own strength has always lain with combat magic.

Slade and Midnighter bathe the boy while Apollo rests on a chair lounge by the window, letting the energy of the sun recharge his depleted strength. He closes his eyes and dozes off, enjoying the warm kiss of sunlight on his skin.

Mid's slightly chapped lips touch his and pull him out from his drowse. "Boy's clean, Master. Will you finish healing him today or wait for tomorrow? You've taken care of the worst. The rest will keep."

Apollo places a hand on the nape of Midnighter's neck and tugs him closer, opening his lips and deepening the kiss. Even after so many years owning him, Midnighter's mouth on his feels like a gift from the gods. Mid might resent Apollo's collar around his neck and Apollo's brand on his skin, but he's still Apollo's in every way that matters. It's enough.

"No," Apollo says, after the two of them break apart. "He'll be terrified when he wakes up." They always are. Being pulled under by magic is as close to dying as it gets. It was done to Apollo once and it's not an experience he'd wish on anyone. "I don't want him to be in pain when it happens. It'll help build trust."

"He isn't going to trust you, Master." Midnighter presses his forehead against Apollo's. "Not after what he's been through." Mid straightens, breaking the contact. "Even if he wanted to trust you, there will always be a part of him that can't. Not even your magic can heal that."

Apollo stands up and catches Midnighter's hand, bringing it to his lips. "I know that. It's all right." They aren't really talking about the boy, except that maybe they are. Midnighter, Slade, the boy. There's no difference. If given the choice most ferals claim to prefer freedom, but it's not a choice they get to have.

The small rest helped. The infection eats at his magic, demanding more and more before it finally fades away burned by Apollo's light. Healing the remaining cuts and lacerations is easier.

"Aren't you going to heal the scars?" Slade asks.

The boy is covered in them. There's no part of his body that doesn't tell a story of torture, pain and despair. "The Council forbade it. They want the world to _know_ the boy is a gem gone feral. And since he can't grow facial hair…" Apollo tugs softly at Slade's white beard. "The old scars have to stay. But Napier's brand will go." He eyes the J on the boy's cheek with distaste. "I won't have my slaves carrying another lord's brand."

"They really don't like you to have pretty gems, do they?" Slade mocks.

"Don't be silly. All my gems are very pretty." He pulls on Slade's beard gently, bringing his lips closer and licks over them. When he lets go, Slade's cheeks are tainted pink. Quite fetching. "Bring me the branding iron."

"You're gonna brand him while he's unconscious?" Slade asks, surprised.

The binding magic works best if the slave's awake during the process. Apollo knows it. Everyone does. But… "He's been through enough pain in his life." Apollo's powerful enough that he can keep the spell running until the boy awakens and the two of them can finish the binding together. 

Slade and Midnighter prop the boy up and hold him. He won't wake, not with the amount of magic Apollo poured into him, but better safe than sorry.

The branding iron glows red under Apollo's power. Carefully, he presses it into the center of the boy's chest. The cloying smell of charred flesh fills the bathhouse as light gushes from Apollo's fingers down the branding iron into the boy's skin. His magic carves its way into the slave's soul seeking all previous claims. The J on the boy's face glows sickly green before it fizzles away and disappears. Then, to Apollo's astonishment, underneath his own brand, where the golden triangle with the rising sun is beginning to take shape on the boy's chest, another owner's brand appears, dark and familiar.

A bat with extended wings. Lord Wayne's mark.

Black shadows rise from it, Lord Wayne's magic trying to stop Apollo from claiming the slave. But despite his gold and his position of power within the Council, Lord Wayne's magical strength is so weak he might as well be a mundane. Apollo's magic bludgeons through his, destroying whatever weak claim by Wayne Napier allowed to remain. Wayne has no right to the slave. None. Not when his voice is among the loudest in the Council demanding the termination of all ferals.

Apollo can't fathom why anyone would sell a slave to a man like Napier. Nothing the boy could have done to displease Wayne can justify such cruelty. Apollo never liked the man's strict, unforgiving nature, but he had respected him. The respect is gone now.

The light burns brighter with his anger and the black shape of the bat darkens on the boy's chest before it glows bright red. Then, it too fizzles and dies, and only Apollo's mark remains. Apollo doesn't own many slaves, but the few he owns, he intends to keep for life. And he'll raze the world to the ground if he has to before he allows anyone to take them from him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	3. Chapter 3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sun room is one of Apollo's favorite parts of the garden, specially designed to augment the magical power of sun rituals. He kneels in its center, arms extended in front of him, palms up, and calls the magic of the sun.

Light kisses his skin, recharging his depleted magic. Exhaustion and frustration melt away, leaving only harmony and peace. Magic powerful enough to burn others alive feels to him like the gentle touch of a lover's caress. The ritual comes to a natural end as night begins to fall, and Apollo reluctantly opens his eyes and rises from his knees, wishing that it could have lasted longer.

Midnighter is seated on one of the benches outside the magic circle, watching him with the closest thing to longing Apollo's ever seen on his face. It disappears the moment he notices Apollo's eyes on him, and the bond flares with anger. At Apollo, or himself, or both. Impossible to tell.

"How's the boy?" Apollo asks, sitting next to him.

"Still asleep," Mid answers, shifting to make room. "We put him in your bed as ordered." 

"Thank you." Apollo runs his fingers through Midnighter's short hair and kisses the edge of his mouth. Midnighter shudders against him, a sigh escaping his lips. The anger begins to melt. Apollo peppers soft kisses along Mid's jaw until he finds an ear. He tugs the earlobe between his teeth, curling his tongue around the shell and down Midnighter's neck. Mid's breath speeds.

Apollo places a hand on his knees and painstakingly slowly slides it up Midnighter's inner thighs, teasing his way up. Midnighter pants and his muscles twitch and jump, but he parts his legs without protest, and when Apollo finally slides his hand underneath his tunic, Midnighter is already hard. 

"Master," Midnighter breathes, and his lips open in a silent invitation Apollo doesn't try to resist.

He presses his tongue into Midnighter, drinking his little sighs and moans, while his hand strokes him to completion. "Come for me, love," he orders.

Midnighter obeys.

A gentle push on Midnighter's shoulder has him dropping to his knees between Apollo's open legs. His head disappears underneath Apollo's toga and then hot, wet lips are surrounding him. Apollo clutches Midnighter's head through the cloth and holds it steady as he thrusts in as deep as he can go. Midnighter swallows him whole. His tongue curves around Apollo's cock and his throat opens for him. Apollo barely has to guide him. Midnighter's head bobs eagerly up and down his length and wet hungry noises fill the night.

He comes with Midnighter's name on his lips, jerking against the back of his throat. Midnighter swallows every drop he has to give and stays there, warm and wet around Apollo's soft cock until Apollo orders him to let go.

Midnighter lays his head on Apollo's thigh, and Apollo runs his fingers through his hair like one would with a favorite pet.

"Master," Midnighter says after a while. His voice sounds probing, unsure.

"Yes, love," Apollo encourages him to go on.

"The new slave… you won't… I won't have to." He kneels back, and his eyes meet Apollo's. "Please, Master, please don't make me."

"Oh, Mid," Apollo sighs. "I did promise, didn't I? It's been almost three years. Are you never going to forgive me?"

"There's nothing to forgive, Master. I exist for your pleasure. It's not--I'm just--"

"Hush." He places a finger on Midnighter's lips. "I'll keep my word." 

"I know you want me to--I just--"

"Mid, love, it's fine. If you don't want to fuck the boy, you won't have to do it. There are a hundred other things I can have you do with him instead." He had forced Midnighter to fuck Slade back when Slade was new in the household. It had seemed like a great idea at the time--put Slade in his place and allow Midnighter to have a good time. That mistake cost him in one day the progress he'd made with Midnighter in two years. 

"I don't want to be there when you--"

"Midnighter," Apollo stops him. "You will witness the binding." His voice comes out harder than he intended. "Love," he tries again, wanting to soothe Midnighter's worries, "I will treat the boy with care, you know that."

"He's going to fight anyway," Midnighter warns.

"You all do at first. It'll be fine. He'll learn to like being mine just like you and Slade have." Apollo rubs his thumb against Midnighter's lips. "You do like being mine, don't you, love?"

The barest of hesitations, and then, "Yes, Master."

Apollo kisses him. "Let's go. I want to check on the new slave and then I intend to spend the evening playing with my pretty gems. I've been neglecting you two lately and it's starting to show."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The slave is still under the influence of the casting, sound asleep on Apollo's bed. The brand on his chest shimmers with a golden light that sparks brighter when Apollo's touches it. His own magic calling to him.

It doesn't surprise him that Lord Wayne bought the boy at some point. He has that particular coloring Wayne has always favored in his gems: fair skin, dark hair, blue eyes. Despite the scars, Apollo knows the boy will look gorgeous wearing Apollo's house colors. He caresses the strong, well-defined legs and his cock stirs imagining how fetching the boy will look in white and gold, wearing the short tunics Apollo favors for his gems.

The binding spell claws at him, demanding to be completed. Just a little while longer, and then the boy will be truly his. He ruffles the boy's hair and stands up. 

Slade and Midnighter are kneeling in the center of the room, waiting for him.

"Attend me," Apollo orders. Midnighter starts to rise, but Apollo stops him. "Not you. Him," he signals to Slade.

Midnighter narrows his eyes slightly. It's usually his duty to see to Apollo's personal needs. Slade rises with the innate grace of a born slave, a well practiced motion he probably mastered before he could walk. He seems to have recovered most of his customary arrogance.

Time to shatter it again. "Start with the sandals."

"Yes, Master." He kneels at Apollo's feet, unbothered.

"Undress first," Apollo commands. When Slade starts to move up he adds, deceptively sweet, "I didn't give you permission to rise, darling, did I?"

Slade freezes and settles back down. "My mistake, Master." His tone is warier than before and his movements slow when he unknots the belt and pulls at the laces tying the tunic. The white silk slides down his body to the floor, leaving him naked. The expensive leather of his collar, wrist and ankle cuffs making his gem status impossible to disguise.

Apollo drinks in the sight of him, the broad torso with Apollo's mark burned into it, the shimmering brand bringing out the gold rings piercing Slade's pink nipples, his strong, muscled thighs spread wide to show the thick, limp cock brushing against the floor. Gorgeous.

Apollo steps closer until his sandals brush against Slade's right knee. He traces the back of his fingers against Slade's temples and tugs at his eyepatch. The strip of leather falls to the floor, revealing the scar tissue underneath. Slade seems so deceptively vulnerable without that small protection. Apollo skims his thumb over the empty eye socket.

Slade hates it. A little flutter of discomfort travels through the bond, before the older slave manages to cut it off. The calm that follows is more fragile, a charade put there for Apollo's benefit.

He digs his thumb in slightly, waiting. The tension rises in Slade, but after a couple of breaths he relaxes again. Yielding. Apollo lets go of his eye.

"Hands behind your back," he orders, and Slade complies immediately. Apollo places the sole of his sandal against Slade's cock. "Get yourself hard."

"May I use my hands, Master?" Slade asks hopefully.

Apollo smiles down at him. "No, you may not."

Slade swallows. "May I--May I use your sandal to--" His voice breaks a little. "May I use your sandal, Master?"

Apollo slides the sole against Slade's soft cock, pushing it left and right and left again. "Are you asking for permission to hump my sandal like a dog, darling?"

Slade blushes. "Yes, Master," he whispers.

"Then _ask_."

Slade sucks in a breath and the muscles of his stomach jump. When he manages to meet Apollo's gaze, his face is bright red. "May I hump your sandal, Master?"

"A bit more politely than that, darling," Apollo tells him. "I've trained better manners into you."

"May I please hump your sandal, Master?"

A ruby indeed. "Go ahead, then, my dear dog. Show me how much you need it."

Desire pools in Apollo's belly while he watches Slade push his hips up against his foot, the muscles of his thighs shifting and straining as he raises and lowers himself, casting arrogance and pride aside to obey Apollo. It makes Apollo's own cock stiffen. The sight of his gem--one of the best shields the Empire ever had--kneeling at his feet headier than wine. 

"Midnighter," he calls with a rough voice. "Strip and join us."

"Yes, Master," Midnighter answers.

Slade's a beautiful gem. A fighter's body, still in his prime despite his age, all defined muscles and coiled strength. But Midnighter, by the gods, Midnighter steals Apollo's breath away. He kneels next to Slade. Back straight, chest up, arms behind his back, neck exposed, showing off his black collar. Exactly how Apollo likes him to kneel, except for one thing. He places a finger under Mid's chin, tipping his head further up. "Look at me, love. You know I like that."

"Yes, Master," Midnighter says. This is always the hardest part for him. That initial submission, the acceptance that Apollo's will supersedes his. Apollo caresses the side of his mouth softly before pressing his fingers in. Midnighter sucks them hungrily, tongue playing with the pads and curling around his knuckles. 

A thin line of spit clings to Apollo's drenched fingers when he finally takes them out and wipes them on Slade's face. "Stop being such a greedy gem and see to my sandals, darling." He takes his foot away, but doesn't move back.

Slade's cock is half-hard and his hips rise twice more, instinctively seeking a friction that's no longer there, before he manages to control himself. He frowns, face creasing with doubt as he tries to gauge what Apollo wants.

Awkwardly, he shuffles back on his knees until he has enough room to move. His hands remain clasped behind his back as he lowers himself. The muscles of his back and thighs tense under the strain as he leans forward. Dry lips brush against the side of Apollo's calf as Slade uses teeth and tongue to pull the first buckle free. Slade's a fast learner. Always has been.

By the time he reaches the last buckle, beads of sweat are running down his back and his whole body is quivering slightly under the strain of the position. Apollo raises his foot helpfully when Slade tugs at the tip of the sole with his teeth, trying to force the strips of leather to loosen and let go. The sandal finally slips free and Slade sits back on his calves, panting slightly with exertion, the sandal dangling from his mouth.

"Tsk." Apollo infuses his voice with derision. "Took you a bit long, didn't it? Maybe I should have you practice more. Mid, love, see to the other one. Show Slade how it's done."

Midnighter's face darkens with anger, but his cock jumps and the bond throbs with arousal as he lowers himself. He works the buckles free faster than Slade did, more familiar with the task. Apollo loves what it does to him, how his tanned skin flushes with humiliation and _want_. The musky smell of arousal wafts from him, stronger than before. There's a reason why Apollo demands this from Midnighter more. Slade's reactions to it don't even come close.

His toga comes off next, Mid and Slade working together this time, only allowed to use their mouths. The soft, wet sounds of their breathing, of tongues and lips straining to complete tasks they are ill-suited for fill the room. By the time they finish undressing him, Apollo's cock is as hard as Midnighter's, flushed red with blood, leaking over the blond hairs that travel from his navel to his groin. Slade is only half-hard, but he always needs direct stimulation to start responding, and the night is young yet.

"On the bed," Apollo orders and watches them crawl towards it, enjoying the tantalizing view of their balls, heavy and large between their legs as well as the little glimpses at their assholes. The memories of burying himself deep into his gems mixing with the anticipation of doing it again soon. _Very soon_.

They climb in next to the unconscious slave, and Apollo can't help the flare of pride at seeing his three gems together. Strong, muscled men, who would make weaker lords flinch with fear. Even the new boy carries that inner strength despite his youth and lack of magical enhancements. 

"Midnighter, love, tie Slade's hands to the headboard, face up."

Between the two of them, they scooch the new slave over to the far edge of the bed. Apollo is glad that the mattress is big enough to accommodate all four of them. Midnighter and Slade had both laughed at him when the bed had been brought in, asking if he wanted to fuck an army, but Apollo had grown tired of having to constantly worry about one of his gems falling down when their games got a bit too lively. An excellent decision on his part. 

Slade lies down on the center of the bed and raises his arms towards the headboard. Midnighter hooks the chains hanging from it to the D-rings of Slade's slave cuffs and snaps the lock shut. Magic sparks as the spell attached to the chains activates, securing Slade further. Both of them watch Apollo hungrily as he moves closer, conditioned by years as his gems to anticipate and crave the pleasure that will soon follow.

He climbs on the bed and beckons Midnighter forward, pulling him into a slow, heated kiss that makes Midnighter moan into his mouth. Mid's dark eyes flutter close and he gives in, letting Apollo claim him.

"Do you like what you see, darling?" he asks Slade, when he and Midnighter break apart.

"Yes, Master," Slade answers with a rough voice. "You're beautiful together."

That they are. Apollo guides Midnighter towards Slade until their lips hover a breath apart from each other. "Kiss him," he orders, and Midnighter obeys. He traces the tip of his tongue over Slade's bottom lip, teasing his way in. Their lips brush against each other chastely. Whenever Slade tries to deepen the kiss, Midnighter retreats. Slade follows until the chains grow taught and then he falls back on the bed, panting.

Apollo leans down, next to them, propping himself up with one elbow, watching Midnighter play with Slade. The older gem rubs his cock against Midnighter's thighs, seeking that friction Apollo denied him earlier. Midnighter moans, always the most vocal of the two, and thrusts down. The chains jingle as Slade arches up in pleasure.

Apollo trails lazy patterns over Slade's exposed body, lingering over the hard muscles of his pecs. He skims a hand down Slade's ribs and lower belly worming his way between Slade and Midnighter. 

Midnighter groans a needy, "Master," when Apollo clasps a hand around Midnighter's and Slade's cocks. He can't quite close his fingers around them, their combined width much too big, but it still gives them something to fuck into.

He strokes them a couple of times, before letting go. He sits up and grabs a handful of Midnighter's hair, pulling him away from Slade's mouth and down between the man's legs. "Midnighter, love, use that pretty mouth of yours on Slade's balls." 

Slade's cock jumps when Midnighter laps at them and Apollo grabs it, stroking it slowly. He plays with Slade's foreskin, pulling it back to expose the sensitive head of Slade's cock only to let slip forward. He does it again and again until the head of Slade's cock swells, jutting out, and the foreskin catches underneath it, leaving it bare and gleaming with precome. 

A small grunt escapes Slade's tight control and the chains rattle again as he pulls against them, hands clasping and unclasping.

Apollo wants to hear him scream. "Midnighter, use your teeth."

Slade tenses and swallows a tiny whimper. Midnighter stops at once, letting go of Slade completely. "Master, please." He voices the words Slade is too proud to say, aware that Slade doesn't like teeth anywhere near his balls. 

"Do it." 

Apollo ignores Midnighter's pleading look or the way his hands tremble as he lowers himself again. Carefully, oh so carefully, he grazes his teeth over Slade's sack. The touch so light it might as well be a caress. Slade still jumps and pants, heartbeat as loud as the hooves of a spooked racing horse.

Even with the enhancement, Slade's strength is no match for Apollo's magic. He forces Slade to stay still as he thumbs the slit of his cock and dips the tip of his finger into it, as if trying to work it open. Slade's muscles spasm as he fights against the hold the magic has on him to no avail. Apollo lets go, soothing the sensitive head with a caress, and leans forward.

He pushes Slade's sweaty bangs away from his face and kisses his forehead. "You get a choice tonight, darling," he offers. "My fingers, playing with your slit until I see tears coming from your eye." It won't take long. Slade's so sensitive there. "Or Midnighter's teeth on your balls, biting hard enough that the mark lasts five seconds before it disappears. Choose or you get both."

"Midnighter's teeth," Slade says as Apollo knew he would.

"Ask Mid to give you what you want, darling," he whispers against Slade's ear. "Be polite about it. You know how Mid hates to hurt you. You'll have to convince him to do it, won't you?"

"Midnighter," Slade complies, "please bite my balls. Make it hurt." As begging goes, Apollo has heard better, usually from Midnighter. Slade's voice lacks that needy desperation.

Midnighter scrunches his eyes close. His desire to obey warring with his anger at having to. 

"Don't rush it, love," Apollo tells him, meeting those dark eyes of his. "Nice and slow. I want Slade to enjoy it. Make him feel good for me. Think you can do that? Teach an old dog new tricks?"

"I can try, Master," Mid says. There it is, that needy desperation. He so wants to make this something Slade doesn't hate.

"Master, I can't," Slade says. "I'm not a--" He stops himself on time and tries again. "I'm a gem." The bond twists with shame. "I know, I haven't forgotten. But I'm not… not a good one. I don't enjoy pain like that, Master. _I can't_." 

Apollo tugs at one of Slade's nipple rings and twists, pulling the skin tight. Slade's moans and arches up and his cock bobbles, precome leaking from its tip.

"You're a perfect gem, darling." He eases the pressure on the ring and then yanks again. Slade's hips hitch up and he whimpers. "You didn't used to like this either, remember?" Apollo twists the ring cruelly and the headboard rattles as Slade pulls against the restraints, panting. "And look at you now," Apollo breathes with admiration.

He lets go of the ring and trails his finger in a winding path across Slade's chest, tracing the raised edges of his mark as he goes. He reaches the other nipple and circles the aureola slowly, nail moving over the thin line where the skin darkens and its texture becomes rough. It hardens and puckers. Apollo loops his finger into the ring and pulls gently.

Slade's half cursed, "Master, by the gods, Master, please," as Apollo increases the pressure steadily only to ease it again tastes like ambrosia.

"Do you want me to stop?" He lets go.

"No. No!" Slade _mewls_.

"See." Apollo twists and yanks, watching Slade come undone under the sensations. "Such a tit slut you've become, darling. You just need to be taught."

He nudges Midnighter with his foot, and Mid starts mouthing at the underside of Slade's cock, trailing his tongue over the thick veins that curl around it like lacework, up and down and up again, alternating between lips and tongue.

Apollo continues to play with Slade's nipple rings while he bites his way down Slade's jaw and neck, across the thick muscles of his shoulders and collarbone.

Slade tenses, shaking his head from side to side as Midnighter's teeth finally close around his balls still much too gently. Apollo yanks one nipple ring, flooding his body with pleasure. Midnighter stops and sucks Slade's cock in, his mouth stretched wide around its thick length. He swallows it down before he moves lower, licking his way down the underside.

"Just fucking do it already!" Slade snaps. "Bite me, damn it."

Apollo fists his hand into Slade's hair and forces the man's head up. "You don't talk to Midnighter like that," he warns. "He's not yours to order. Slaves don't demand things, they beg and plead for them."

"I'm sorry, Master."

"It's not me you should be apologizing to, is it?" Apollo tells him.

"Midnighter, I'm sorry. Please, by the gods, just bite me already. Just do it, please."

Midnighter does. Slade screams, thrashing against the bonds. He tries to kick but Apollo holds his legs down, keeping him in place, forcing him to take it. Apollo opens the link, allowing his own pleasure to trickle into Slade. It's a subtle change, barely noticeable, a little push of magic that Slade's subconscious already craves, and like a plant seeking sunlight Slade will twist and turn changing himself to get it. It's why Apollo can't understand lords like Napier or Bendix. Why make slaves hate what they are, when you have the power to make them love it?

He kisses Slade, pushing his tongue into the man's mouth, swallowing his noises. Slade surrenders so beautifully, arching into the kiss, and presses into Apollo's hands as they play with his nipples even as he tries to get away from Midnighter's teeth. Then, Midnighter's mouth joins them, seeking entrance too. The kiss is a messy affair of tongues and lips and teeth. 

Apollo takes Mid's hand and closes it around Slade's erection. "See how hard he is. That was you," he whispers into Midnighter's ear. "You did so well, love. Tell him, Slade. Tell _us_ how much you enjoyed it."

"Yes," Slade answers, voice rough, and thrusts his cock into their joint grip. "I liked it. I liked it. It hurt and I liked it." His breath hitches when he repeats, "It hurt and I liked it." He tries to hide his face against an arm as if that will make the reality of who he's becoming disappear. "Master, please, not again. I liked it, but not again. Not tonight. Please. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." There he is, Apollo's gem, all that arrogance and unbecoming self-assertion stripped away.

"Hush, darling." Apollo soothes him, kissing his cheek. "Not again tonight. Of course not." He guides Midnighter's head to Slade's chest and tells him, "Make him feel good." Mid latches onto Slade's nipple immediately. Through the link, Mid's desperate desire to give Slade pleasure is as heady as Slade's final yielding. 

Apollo fetches the oil from the side table and checks the new slave. The boy's still out, but when Apollo touches his neck he shifts away and curls into himself. Seems like the effects of the magic are starting to ease. "Soon, sweetheart," Apollo promises, before he returns to his boys.

He pours oil on his hand and trails his fingers over Midnighter's rim. He pushes in slowly until the tip of his forefinger breaches through the resistance. Midnighter moans against Slade's chest and spreads his legs wider, bearing down on the touch. He's so deliciously tight, as though he's never been fucked before. Lord Bendix's spellwork at play; the only piece of his magic Apollo appreciates. He prods with his finger, stretching Midnighter, and adds a bit more oil before thrusting in again. 

"Master, please," Midnighter begs. "Need it now. Please." And he _does_. The bond throbs with it. 

Apollo guides the tip of Slade's cock towards Mid's asshole, and Midnighter shifts backwards with his hips, rising slightly, spreading himself wider. Apollo holds Slade's cock steady and uses his other hand to push Midnighter down on it. The too tight rim refuses to open at first, sliding away from the blunt, fat head of Slade's cock. Apollo angles it better and Midnighter's asshole flutters open, aided by the oil and Midnighter's own movements. 

"None of that, love," Apollo says, when Midnighter tries to stop and shift up, and uses his strength to make Midnighter _take it_. 

Slade grunts and thrusts up, burying himself deeper. "Fuck, Mid, you're tighter than a virgin." He usually only gets to have Apollo's sloppy seconds, if he gets to fuck Midnighter at all, but he's been so good tonight. 

Midnighter lets go of Slade's nipple and arches his back, thighs trembling under the strain. He keens and pants, gasping in a broken voice, "It's too much. Gods, please, Master, so good. Please, need it." 

Apollo watches mesmerized as the rim stretches thin around Slade's cock. "Of course you do, love, you're such a needy gem." He forces him down further until Midnighter bottoms out, asscheeks resting on Slade's thighs. "Look at you take it." His own cock throbs with envy, remembering how good it feels to have that tight heat clenching around him. "To think the Council is afraid of you," Apollo says. "Idiots. All they need to do is tie you down to a table and fill you with cock. A good, hard fucking and violence is that last thing in your mind, isn't that right, love?" 

"You're right, Master," Slade grunts. "Look how hard his cock gets just imagining it." He arches up. "That's it, slut. Take it." 

"Master! Oh, gods, Master," Midnighter whimpers. 

"Are you going to come on Slade's cock, love? Is he enough or do you need more?" Apollo asks.

"More," Midnigher begs, "Please, Master, need your hand." He raises his hips up and then pushes himself back down, meeting Slade's thrusts. The loud slap of flesh on flesh mixes with Slade's grunts of pleasure. Midnighter's pants as he undulates his hips, seeking the right friction. He moans and rises up again. 

His rim clings to Slade's cock as if it can't bear to let go. Apollo presses a finger around it, wanting to feel that tightness. Midnighter shudders and his rhythm breaks. Slade curses, hips hitching up at the extra sensation.

"If you want a hand I can give you one," Apollo murmurs. He pushes in tentatively, squeezing the tip of his finger between Slade's cock and Midnighter's ass. "Holy Lady," he whispers when Midnighter's rim somehow _gives_. He didn't think it was possible. He'd just wanted to tease his two gems a bit. 

He holds Midnighter's hips steady to stop him from moving and pushes further in, unable to help himself. His finger looks so pale against Slade's red cock and the pink rim of Mid's ass. 

"Master!" Midnighter cries out as his asshole flutters around them. The room smells of arousal and sweat. Midnighter's, Slade's, _Apollo's_. 

"That's it, love. Take it." Apollo pushes Midnighter down until he swallows them. With a trembling hand he fumbles for the oil bottle and uncorks it with his teeth. He slips his finger free and smears his hand with oil, pouring more of it over the crack of Midnighter's ass. 

"Move up," he tells Midnighter and lets the oil trickle over Slade's cock as it appears.

"Down," he orders, and crams his finger against Slade's cock, hiding the tip under the wide head so that it slides in as well.

"Oh gods, Master. So good," Slade grunts as Midnighter sinks, clutching tightly around them. 

Apollo holds Midnighter still and moves his finger back and forth, stroking against the sensitive underside of Slade's cock, pulling at Midnighter's rim until it stretches enough to swallow another finger. He pours more oil on his hand and shoves two fingers in. Midnighter whines and trembles and his arms give under him. He slumps against Slade's chest, but his hips still hitch when Slade thrusts up as if trying to get more.

"Work with me, love. Pull your cheeks apart. I wanna see that hungry hole of yours taking what I give it," Apollo says.

It takes him two tries, but finally Midnighter finds the coordination to grab at his ass, pulling it open, exposing himself to Apollo.

"Yeah, yeah, just like that," Apollo whispers as he scissors his fingers, fighting against that tightness. Slade thrusts up in tandem with Apollo and between the two of them, they work Midnighter open enough that Apollo can squeeze a third finger in.

Apollo pulls his fingers out and shoves them back in, roughly, fucking Midnighter open. Again and again. Until the muscles of Mid's rim stop fighting him and every single part of Midnighter relaxes and _gives_. Midnighter whines, incoherent with pleasure while Slade pulls against the chains tying him to the headboard, desperate for more leverage to thrust up.

When Apollo finally pulls his hand away, Midnighter's ass doesn't close immediately, remaining loose around Slade. "If you could see yourself," Apollo whispers, awed, and blows air against the pink flesh of Midnighter's rectum. His cock hurts with how hard he is. 

Midnighter shivers and pulls himself farther apart, exposing more of that tantalizing pink flesh that shouldn't be visible at all. "Master, please, please. Need it so bad. Fuck me. Use me. Please. Apollo, please." His voice breaks on Apollo's name.

Apollo surges forward, as if Midnighter was the master forcing him to obey. By the gods, if Midnighter ever finds out what Apollo's name coming from his lips does to him, he'll never stop using it.

He presses the head of his cock against the underside of Slade's, forcing it inside. He groans, hands digging into Midnighter's hips hard enough to mark him. He has to close his eyes against the onslaught of sensations, lest he blows his load like a green boy cornering his favorite rag in a closet because he's still too shy to ask for daddy's gem. 

It's so tight. Tighter than anything Apollo's ever felt before. Even breaking in Mid's virgin ass every night hasn't prepared him for this. Midnighter is like a vice squeezing his and Slade's cocks together.

When Apollo opens his eyes and finally _looks_ he moans at the sight. Midnighter is stretched so wide it seems impossible. The girth of his and Slade's cocks combined is wider than Apollo's forearm. If Apollo didn't know better, he'd have sworn that magic had to be involved. Humans, even enhanced ones, shouldn't be able to stretch that wide. But Midnighter has. Because Apollo demanded it. Ordered it. Because he made him.

By the gods.

He pushes forward, forcing those last neglected inches in, relishing the loud keening wail it rips from Midnighter's throat and the way Slade curses and pants, "Fuck, Midnighter, you were made to take cock."

Midnighter sobs and his hands let go of his ass, muscles refusing to obey him. Apollo pulls him up until his back is flush against Apollo's chest. Pulling back is just as difficult as getting in was. Midnighter's ass clutching him so tight every inch feels like a battle. He sinks back in, pushing past the resistance, splitting Midnighter open. Slade shoves in when Apollo slides back.

Midnighter whines. "So full. Apollo. Slade. It's too much. Too good. I can't." 

Apollo works himself in again, panting against the strain. "You can, love. You can. You already have." He sweeps Mid's leaking cock aside and presses his hand against Midnighter's belly. He thrusts in and out slowly as far as the tight vice of Midnighter's ass allows. He pushes his hand against Midnighter's skin, trying to feel himself from the outside. There's a little, barely-there ripple, probably just a shift of Mid's muscles, but Apollo loves the idea that it's his cock, his and Slade's, rearranging Midnighter's inside to accommodate them.

After that, he loses control. He rams in with all his strength, too far gone to care if it hurts or not. But Midnighter is moaning and begging and all the words that come from his mouth are "More," and "Please," and " _Apollo_."

Slade's hips cant up, spasming uselessly as he fights against gravity and the combined weight of Midnighter and Apollo. He's as trapped, as used, as _owned_ as Midnighter, his cock sliding against Apollo's, stuffing Midnighter full, adding that perfect friction that has Apollo riding on the edge of an orgasm.

"Come for me, love, come on my cock like the slut you are," Apollo grunts, pounding into Midnighter, bouncing him on his and Slade's cocks. "Come for your master, gem." 

Midnighter screams and thrashes, ass quivering around them, squeezing them impossibly tighter. His untouched cock jerks against the back of Apollo's hand, sprouting like a fountain. Come paints Slade's chest and face, falling on his panting mouth, his neck, his cheeks. One thick, white glob lands on the hollow of Slade's missing eye and stays there before it slowly drips down his face, clinging to the scar.

"You, too, darling," he tells Slade. "Give it up. Come for me." 

Slade bites his lips and freezes in a painful arch, cock pulsing against Apollo's as he comes silently. 

When Apollo pulls back, his own cock is wet with Slade's release. He shoves back in, chasing his own orgasm. Slade's still jerking inside of Midnighter, and Apollo pushes against him, milking the last drops of come out him, loving how Slade's cock softens, creating space for Apollo to thrust that little bit further in.

Slade whimpers. "Master, it's too much. Please."

Apollo thrusts in three more times, ignoring the pleas. It's so good, so perfect. He doesn't want it to ever end. Finally, he lets go, burying himself as deep into Midnighter as he can go. His orgasm lasts forever. He spaces out a little at the end, slumping against Midnighter's back, unable to hold himself outright. 

So fucking good. He pants against Midnighter's nape, catching his breath. Best orgasm he's had in years. As good as the first time he put his brand on Midnighter, tied him to his bed and fucked the rage and anger out of him before binding him as a gem.

Yes, Apollo will fight the Council to have this. Maybe it's not just slaves who go feral. Maybe lords do, too, for Midnighter and Slade have changed him, but Apollo doesn't want it any other way.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	4. Chapter 4

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There's a nagging discomfort growing in his chest, like a scratching of fingernails against stone. He rolls off of Midnighter, soft cock slipping out with a wet plop, and lands on his back, too exhausted to do more than that. That nagging discomfort doesn't ease at all, but grows instead, clawing at him.

It takes Apollo's orgasm-addled brain a moment to realize it isn't coming from Midnighter or Slade, but from the new slave. The bond awakening at last.

Apollo opens bleary eyes and turns his head with some effort to check on the boy. Blue eyes are watching him warily. The slave bares his teeth at Apollo, growling softly in the back of his throat.

"The puppy's awake," Slade says with a rough voice, still a little breathless. It takes a lot to get Slade to sound that wrecked. Apollo loves it.

Moving is too much effort right now, but needs must. He pushes himself up with some trouble and inches slowly towards the boy. "It's okay, sweetheart," he soothes. "I'm not going to hurt you."

Even though the bonding isn't yet completed, the slave's fear is so strong that some of it seeps through the partial bond. It's not an emotion Apollo is used to feeling from his slaves. Midnighter had been nothing but rage and defiance when Apollo first got him and Slade cynicism and disdain.

The boy is terrified.

He tries to flee, but the brand on his chest pulses bright with magic under Apollo's silent command, stopping him from leaving the bed. The slave yelps and whines. He shifts back as far as the magic allows him, pressing into the footboard. He claws at the brand. Drops of blood ooze from the still tender skin but instead of slowing him down, it makes him scratch harder. He digs his nails in and rips, like a trapped animal willing to chew off a paw to get free.

The brutality spurs Apollo into action, afterglow forgotten. He moves forward, faster than the boy can track, and captures his hands, pulling them away from the slave's chest. "None of that, sweetheart. No one hurts my property without my permission." 

The boy bites Apollo's forearm hard, only to squawk and let go. Apollo swallows a snort at the betrayed look the slave throws at him.

Slade isn't as compassionate. He laughs out loud. "Does he still have any teeth left?"

"Be nice, Slade," Midnighter grouses, and swats at him halfheartedly, too fucked out to move much. "The boy's panicking. His heart is about to explode."

Mid's right. The slave's heart is beating much too fast as he pulls and twists and whines, trying to escape Apollo's grip. If Apollo allows him to continue, the slave will choke on his own fear. He's seen it happen before.

"Stop it!" He rattles the boy to get his attention. When that doesn't work, Apollo uses magic to slow down his heartbeat. The boy's eyes widen and he snarls, trembling like a leaf. The power of Apollo's magic might frighten him, but his heart isn't racing anymore.

"You need to calm down, sweetheart. Breathe. Just breathe," Apollo tells me. "I'll let you go, but only if you breathe with me first. Come on, sweetheart, you were so good earlier. Remember? Be good again. Breathe in." Apollo inhales loudly and after a brief hesitation the boy breathes in, too. Apollo exhales. "Breathe out," he orders. "That's it, such a good boy. Two more times. In… Out. Yes, sweetheart. See, that isn't so hard, is it? Again. In… and out. Beautiful."

Apollo soothes him further. "You feel that?" he sends a pulse of magic down the half-formed bond, a warm, gentle caress. "That's me. You're mine now. Hush, don't cry. I'm not going to hurt you." He lets his magic travel through the boy, healing the scratches on his chest. Apollo's brand shines bright for a second before its light fades. "See, that didn't hurt, did it?"

The boy peeks at his chest and then glances up at Apollo, a confused frown on his face.

"Are you in pain? Does anything hurt?" Apollo asks. Nothing should, but he wants the boy to notice it. To realize that the nightmare his life had been for the past years is finally over.

The slave's forehead furrows. He squints at his own body before he looks up and tilts his head, studying Apollo. Deliberately, he pulls once against Apollo's hold on his wrists and gives him a pointed look.

Apollo's lips stretch into a pleased smile. "Am I holding you too tight?" he asks.

The boy's face takes on a sly look, and he nods. A small jerk of his head. Apollo knows he isn't hurting the boy. This is a test. He lets go, curious to see what the boy will do.

He does nothing, too surprised by Apollo's easy acquiescence. His eyes dart to Slade and Midnighter on the far side of the bed, then towards the door and finally land on Apollo again. He shifts away from him, sliding across the footboard to the other corner of the bed, away from Apollo. He crouches awkwardly, making himself as small as he can while still keeping his ability to launch and fight if anyone attacks him.

Apollo moves back, giving him even more space. He reclines against the headboard and strokes the underside of Slade's bound arms idly. Every now and then he lets his fingers trail over Midnighter's hair. His two gems haven't moved at all, but they are watching the boy carefully, too.

"Do you have a name?" Apollo asks the slave, hoping he might get an answer this time. The binding is not completed, but magically the half-bond ought to be enough to give the feral some of his sanity back.

The slave sucks his lower lip in and twitches. He shakes his head and then flinches. Fear clogs the link once more.

"It's all right, sweetheart. You don't have to answer if you don't want to," Apollo reassures him. "Do you remember what happened? What you did to Lord Napier?"

"I sure hope he does," Midnighter says. "It'd be a true shame if he doesn't remember. The surprised look on Bendix's face when I ripped out his spine is one of my nicest memories. Killing Joker probably felt just as good."

The kid smiles at Midnighter, bloodthirsty little thing. Apollo probably shouldn't leave those two alone, but well… the kid did smile. Progress. And he has calmed down, too. Even better.

Apollo just needs to get some food into the boy. He'll need the energy to finish the binding. A little magic, and the plate the rags prepare every night for them appears in front of him, encased by a bright beam of light.

The boy shrinks back, trembling.

"Just a bit of magic, puppy. No need to get upset. Our master likes to show off, that's all," Slade tells the boy.

"I don't," Apollo protests.

"You do, Master," Midnighter sides with Slade, as usual. "Nothing wrong with that. I'd do it, too, if I had that much power."

"Boys, behave," Apollo chides, and leans down to brush a kiss against Midnighter's hair and another one on Slade's cheek.

The new slave's nose twitches, a puzzled expression on his face. Then, for good measure, he bares his teeth at them and growls.

Apollo takes a small piece of cheese and feeds it to Slade. He dips another piece in the tart apple jelly Midnighter loves and gives it to him. Midnighter, gorgeous gem that he is, makes a show of licking Apollo's fingers, chasing every trace of jelly with his tongue.

He picks a large piece of dried meat and extends his arm towards the boy, without moving away from the headboard. "Are you hungry, sweetheart?" He has to be.

The slave's stomach rumbles loudly in response, but the boy doesn't move closer. "Come on, sweetheart, you'll have to eat at some point. Might as well do it now," Apollo cajoles, waving the meat enticingly. 

"Or you could let it be," Slade says, "more for us. I'm starving."

"Slade, really?" Midnighter bites his jaw.

The slave hisses at Slade and inches forward slowly. He eyes the meat hungrily and hesitates. He looks at Slade again, snarls and shuffles a little bit closer. Apollo catches the smug smirk on Slade's lips, hidden behind Midnighter's black hair and realizes the older man is baiting the kid on purpose.

The boy stops again just out of reach, but can't seem to gather the courage to actually take the meat. Poor thing doesn't understand that if Apollo truly wanted to touch him, Apollo could move faster than he could react.

Trying hard not to give away the ruse with a laugh, Apollo releases Slade's wrists with a push of magic.

"Thank you, Master," Slade says and rolls his shoulders, easing some of the strain. He wipes the come from his face with a hand, or tries to. Parts of it are just smeared further.

"Leave it." Apollo stops him before he can clean himself completely. He likes that wrecked look.

Slade lets his hand drop and sits up. His soft cock slips free from Mid's ass, and come leaks out, trickling down Midnighter's inner thighs. Apollo's so entranced by the view that he barely notices when Slade grabs the piece of meat from his hand and eats it.

"Slade!" Midnighter protests, affronted on the kid's behalf, or maybe just disgruntled because he lost his human pillow. He turns, slouching over Slade's chest and thighs, and rests his head on Slade's broad shoulder.

"Don't fight," Apollo warns the snarling boy. "There's more." He picks another piece of meat and offers it to him.

The boy eyes the meat hungrily. He licks his lips and whines. He moves forward a tiny bit and then retreats, trembling.

"This is delicious," Slade says, moaning exaggeratedly as he chews. He leans forward, making it plain he intends to steal the other piece.

The slave jumps, snatches the meat from Apollo's hand and scrambles back towards the footboard.

"Hey, I wanted to eat that," Slade protests. The kid grins at him, victorious and gulps down the meat, barely chewing.

It's easier to feed the boy with Slade playing him like a fiddle. The older gem lets him get away with taking two to three pieces of food, before he steals one for himself, too fast for the boy to stop him. The boy retreats slightly less every time, aware than ceding ground means giving Slade the advantage.

Midnighter catches on quickly and pretends to side with the slave. He steals pieces of cheese from Slade's fingers before the older man can eat them and throws them to the kid with a wink, but Apollo doesn't miss how the pieces land closer to them every time. By the time the last pieces of meat and cheese are gone, the boy's sitting cross legged within touching distance of their feet.

"Time for dessert," Apollo says, picking one honeyed almond and giving it to Midnighter. Mid's sweet tooth is legendary. He hands another almond to Slade and then takes a third one, offering it to the boy in the palm of his hand.

The partial bond, which had been radiating satisfaction until then, sours with the boy's fear once more. Dealing with feral slaves is like walking through a swamp without a guide. You think you're on the right track only to find yourself stepping into quicksand with your next step. Apollo's used to it by now.

The boy takes the honeyed almond with trembling fingers and nibbles at it, eying Apollo fearfully. Midnighter and Slade eat a dozen almonds each in the time it takes the boy to finish two. Even Slade threatening to take the last one has no effect at all. If anything the slave eats even slower.

"You're in luck, Mid, looks like the puppy doesn't like dessert much," Slade comments and the boy cringes.

"Come on, sweetheart. There's no need to be afraid," Apollo tells the boy. "Just eat your dessert."

The boy swallows the last piece of almond he was nibbling at and slinks closer. Apollo believes he's going to take the last almond, but he ignores the plate completely, crawling slowly forward until he's kneeling between Apollo's open legs. His whole body quivers as he bends his elbows and lowers his head.

Apollo braces for an attack, reading his magic, but the slave doesn't try to bite him. Apollo's breath catches as the boy's tongue darts forward to lick his cock.

"Dessert," Slade says like the word is a curse.

Lord Napier's training. Of course. 

Apollo's torn. A part of him wants to stop the boy and explain the misunderstanding. However, the slave is a gem and Apollo will demand this and more from him. He’d be a fool not to take advantage. If the boy cooperates, the final part of the binding will be so much easier.

"That's it, my sweet gem, you're doing so well," Apollo encourages him.

The kid freezes and looks up at him with wide, surprised blue eyes. He licks Apollo again, hesitantly.

"Just like that. Keep going, lick me clean," Apollo says. 

The boy shivers and whimpers, swallowing a little, quiet moan that Apollo can still hear. Poor thing has probably never heard a kind word in his life. "Such a good gem you are. Perfect, sweetheart. Your mouth feels fantastic."

The kittenish, tentative licks become bolder. Apollo starts to harden under the slave's efforts. The boy rises up, takes the head of Apollo's cock in his mouth and goes down. And down. Until Apollo's cock is nudging the back of his throat. Then, he swallows around it and the last inches of Apollo's cock disappear into his mouth. He doesn't even gag.

Lord Napier was a nasty, cruel piece of garbage, but he at least taught the boy how to worship a cock. Apollo won't even have to condition him to like it. The link is throbbing with the slave's desire to please.

"Such a good gem," Apollo groans, stopping himself from grabbing the boy's curly hair and thrusting up into that tight, wet heat. Gentle and steady does it. The gem needs to trust him first. Only then can Apollo start demanding more.

Not that Apollo needs to coax him at all. The boy is ravenous. He sets a desperate, brutal pace that has Apollo clutching his hands against the bed sheets and panting, "Fuck, so good. That's it, sweetheart. Choke yourself on my cock." And the boy _does_. The more Apollo speaks, the more frantic he becomes. 

"Master, the binding," Midnighter reminds him, seconds before Apollo's about to come.

Fuck, he's right. He grabs the boy's hair and pulls him up, sliding free from the boy's mouth. "Let go, sweetheart." 

The boy struggles against Apollo's hold, trying to go back to his cock. He's terrified again. "Hey, it's all right, sweetheart. You were great. You pleased me so much." He strokes over the boy's swollen lips, soothing him. "Hush, you don't need to be afraid. You've definitely earned that last almond." He gives it to the boy, who takes it with trembling fingers.

Apollo lets go of the boy's hair and vanishes the empty plate. The slave startles and shifts away, sitting on his haunches.

"Aren't you going to eat it, kid?" Midnighter asks, when it becomes obvious the slave's forgotten about the honeyed almond in his hand.

The boy glances warily at Apollo.

"You don't have to eat if you don't want to, sweetheart," Apollo reassures him. "You can save it for later or give it to Midnighter. It's yours."

The boy places the almond on Midnighter's leg and darts back.

"The puppy has a favorite," Slade mocks.

Midnighter laughs. "Thank you, kid. I appreciate it." He eats the almond with a grin. "Kid's great at discerning character, Slade. He knows you're a piece of shit."

"He's great at many things," Apollo agrees. That mouth of his is a gift from the gods. An idea tugs at the back of Apollo's mind. "You like Midnighter, sweetheart, don't you?"

The boy looks between Midnighter and Apollo, and shrugs.

"Why don't you show him how much you like him, then? That mouth of yours is sweeter than honey. He's going to love it."

The grin fades from Midnighter's face. "Master," he says warily. "It's too soon. You promised that I…" He trails off. Apollo only promised that he wouldn't have to fuck the boy. "He's still afraid."

"He isn't afraid. Are you afraid of Midnighter, sweetheart?" Apollo asks.

The boy's heartbeat speeds up, but he shakes his head.

Apollo smiles at him. "Of course not. You're such a brave gem. See," he says to Midnighter. "He's not afraid at all."

"No!" Midnighter turns around, and plonks himself prone on the bed between Slade and Apollo.

Apollo had forgotten Midnighter's stubborn refusal to play along with new gems. It had been the same with Slade until he got used to the older man's presence in Apollo's bed. The memories of fighting and raping other slaves for the crowd's entertainment in Lord Bendix's illegal fighting pits something that five years as Apollo's gem have yet to erase. At least this time Apollo knows better than to use magic to compel him to cooperate.

He sighs and places a gentle hand on Midnighter's upper back. "It's all right, love," he reassures him, and is pleased to notice that some of the tightness eases.

The boy studies them with a frown. His gaze lingers on Apollo, unsure. Then, he starts to inch forward. He stops shy of Midnighter's feet. His fingers hover over the back of Midnighter's ankles and he glances at Apollo, seeking guidance.

"Go ahead, sweetheart," Apollo encourages him, wanting to see what the boy will do. "Midnighter won't hurt you."

The boy grabs Midnighter's calves with unease. Mid tenses and locks his muscles, preparing to passively resist any attempts the slave might make to turn him around. But the boy just nudges Midnighter's legs apart and crawls between them. He spreads Midnighter's asscheeks with trembling fingers, lowers his head and licks the mess on Midnighter's inner thighs all the way up his asshole, lapping at the oil and come with his tongue. 

Midnighter splutters. "What is he--" The question dies on his lips when the kid licks over his stretched rim, dipping the tip of his tongue into Midnighter and tearing a full body shudder from him. The slave pushes his tongue deeper, dragging a reluctant moan out of Midnighter. Mid tries to turn around them, but Apollo's hand between his shoulder blades keeps him down.

He's too entranced by what the boy is doing to let Midnighter put a stop to it. Apollo's never had his slaves do this to each other before. A mistake he intends to correct. This is a night of firsts, it seems. Apollo's neglected cock aches with need watching the boy work Midnighter open with his tongue, wet, slurping noises coming from him, like Midnighter's ass is the best meal he's had in weeks.

Mid isn't helping either, twitching and pushing against Apollo's hand, moaning and panting like a whore. He spreads his legs further apart and braces himself on his knees not to get away or kick but to shove his ass back into the boy's hungry mouth.

"Master," Midnighter keens, voice breaking in a moan. His hands clasp uselessly at the mattress as he tries to rise. "Please, oh gods, please."

Apollo pushes him down, keeping his chest and face flat against the bed. "Look at you, love, how desperate you are. Told you his mouth was sweet, didn't I? Does it feel good?"

"Yeees!" The word stretches into a mewl. "Please, oh gods, Master, please fuck me. Someone fuck me. Need it. Please. Apollo, master, please. _Apollo_." 

Apollo has to squeeze his balls to stop himself from coming. Midnighter, so desperate for cock that he's begging for it, is enough to tip Apollo over the edge. By the gods, Apollo is going to have the kid eat Mid out every night if he has to. He'll have Slade do it, too. Force the older gem to lick Apollo's come out of Midnighter before he's allowed to use Mid's ass.

He looks at Slade, imagining it, and sees his own hunger mirrored there. They grin at each other.

Slade gestures at his own half-hard cock and mouths, "May I?"

Apollo nods, and Slade sighs with pleasure as he closes his hand around his length, stroking it lazily up and down while he watches the new slave work.

Midnighter's pleas lose their coherence, becoming a garbled blend of moaning and begging that's impossible to discern. Apollo takes his hand off Midnighter's back, but Mid's too far gone to notice. He stays there, half-plastered on the bed, hips rocking back against the slave, heavy cock hanging uselessly between his raised thighs, leaking all over the bed sheets.

Apollo pries the boy away from Midnighter's ass and Midnighter whines, rocking against empty air. His pink, swollen hole twitches, gleaming with spit.

"You did so good, sweetheart," Apollo coos at the boy, and the slave relaxes against Apollo's grip with a glazed, almost forlorn expression. "You've earned a reward." Apollo frowns when he realizes the boy isn't hard at all. That won't do.

"Midnighter, if you want a cock inside your ass that badly, you need to help our new boy." Apollo grabs Mid's short hair and pulls him up, helping him turn around until his face is inches away from the boy's limp cock.

Apollo kneels behind the slave, stopping the boy from bolting, and puts a hand against his brand. Magic tingles and sparks golden beneath his fingers, and the boy's breath hitches. "Hush, sweetheart." Apollo strokes his upper arm, trying to calm him. "It's just my magic, eager for me to finish claiming you. Would you like that? Do you want to be mine?"

The boy's trembling intensifies. He doesn't answer, but he doesn't fight either. For a feral slave, he's surprisingly docile. It had taken Apollo quite an amount of power to subdue Midnighter and Slade long enough to finish the bonding, and they had both been weakened by the fresh branding. With some luck, he won't even have to use his magic to force the boy. It's so much better when the slaves chant it willingly the first time.

"Get him hard, Mid," Apollo says.

Midnighter glances up at them from beneath his eyelashes and slowly moves forward, lips grazing over the slave's cock. The boy whimpers and flinches. His ass brushes Apollo's hard-on and he freezes, heart jackhammering inside his chest.

"Calm down, sweetheart." Apollo interlaces his fingers with the slave's, forestalling any attempts to panic and fight. "If anything hurts, you tell me and I make it stop. I know you don't talk much, but you spoke earlier, remember? I know you can. Say, 'hurts'," Apollo whispers against his ear.

The boy swallows audibly and opens his mouth, but no sound comes out. 

"Say it!" he demands, putting more force behind the words.

"Hurts," the boy sobs, quivering like a leaf, voice breaking with lack of practice, or fear, or both.

Apollo kisses the top of his head. "Such a good boy. Say it once more."

"Hurts." The word is stronger this time.

"Beautiful. If anything hurts at any point, you tell me, and we stop," Apollo promises.

"Hurts," the boy repeats.

Apollo chuckles. "Are you in pain now?" He nibbles softly at one of the boy's earlobes. "Tell the truth."

The boy shakes his head slightly. 

"Then don't lie. Good slaves don't lie to their masters. You don't want to be a bad slave, do you?"

This time, the boy shakes his head frantically and whimpers. 

"Good," Apollo tells him. "You use the word if it hurts. Oh, sweet thing, don't cry like that. We're going to make you feel so good. Mid, love, suck him."

"Master, please." Midnighter's reluctance is back.

Apollo grabs Midnighter's chin and looks down at him sternly. "Midnighter, either you suck him or Slade does. I think our boy would rather have you. Isn't that right, sweetheart?"

The boy nods, pressing further back into Apollo's chest, eyeing Slade fearfully.

"See, love," he tells Midnighter, "he wants _you_." He pulls Midnighter up by his chin and whispers into his ear, "You can be as soft to him as you want. Remember all those other slaves you had to hurt in the past?" Midnighter grimaces with distress. "This isn't like that, love. You get to be gentle for once. You like that, don't you? When you are allowed to be gentle?"

"Yes, Master," Midnighter whispers back.

Apollo kisses him, long and heated, and then pushes his head downward until Mid's lips are brushing the boy's cock. "Be gentle, Midnighter," he says. "Make my new gem feel good." He clasps the boy's hands and holds him steady.

Midnighter's pink tongue licks along the boy's cock softly and the boy tenses, pulling against Apollo's hold uselessly. Midnighter licks him again, slower still, a soft tease.

"It's all right, sweetheart, don't be afraid," Apollo tells him. The boy's starting to panic again. "Is he hurting you?"

"No," the boy keens.

"Does his tongue feel good on your cock?" Apollo asks.

The boy stops struggling at once, freezing. He whines and shakes his head from side to side.

"It's all right if it feels good, puppy," Slade tells him. "Apollo won't punish you if you like it."

Apollo frowns at the odd words. Slade murmurs, "Joker," low enough that only Apollo and Midnighter can hear it. 

It reminds Apollo that Lady Hive used to lend her shield to other lords in exchange for gold. She and Lord Napier hadn't been close, but she had business dealings with him. Slade's knowledge about the Joker's treatment of his gems might be based on more than rumors. Maybe there's more than one reason why the boy fears him so. 

"Slade's right, sweetheart," Apollo reassures the boy. "I want you to enjoy Mid's tongue. Good slaves give their masters what they want, isn't that so?"

The boy nods. After a while, his cock starts to swell slightly under Midnighter's persistent attention. The slave sobs and clutches Apollo's hands frantically, tugging at them. Apollo has the gut-wrenching suspicion that the horrible cock cage the boy had been wearing was his punishment for getting hard. No wonder he's terrified of arousal.

"Come on, sweetheart, don't fight it," Apollo tells him. "I want to see that little cock of yours plumping for me."

Midnighter takes the boy in his mouth, swallowing him. He holds the base of the kid's cock with one hand and bobs his head up and down, sucking and licking, trying to get him to harden more.

"Please," the boy begs in a rough, broken voice. And then, "Hurts."

Midnighter lets go at once, scrambling back.

"Sweetheart, does it truly hurt or are you just scared because it feels good?" Apollo asks, rubbing his hand over the slave's brand, pushing magic into him to get him to calm down some.

"I'm sorry," the slave pleads. "I'm sorry." He presses the hand Apollo freed against his half-hard cock, pulling at it brutally. "Please, I'm sorry. Master. Please."

Apollo grabs his hand, moving it away. The kid's cock has softened again. "Answer my question, slave. Were you in pain before?" Apollo asks implacably.

"No," the boy sobs.

"I told you to use the word _only_ if it hurts," Apollo reminds him. 

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry." He's crying now, his whole body wracked by sobs.

Damned Joker, damaging a perfectly good gem with his sick games to the point he's terrified of his own pleasure. "It's all right," Apollo soothes him. "I'm not angry at you."

The boy can't help it, the same way Slade and Midnighter couldn't help fighting him at first. He's been trained to fear pleasure like Midnighter and Slade were trained to love violence. Apollo will just have to be patient.

Midnighter has backed away against the headboard and is looking almost as spooked as the boy. Apollo sighs. Right. No point trying to convince him to continue. "Slade get over here and make yourself useful," he tells the older gem.

Slade strokes himself once more, before he lets go and prowls closer to them, a smug smirk on his face. The boy struggles against Apollo's hold and growls, trying to bite. He's done being good.

Apollo holds him back easily. He abandons his half-kneel and sits on the bed, keeping the boy's back flush to his chest. Then, he hooks his legs inside the boy's knees and spreads the slave's thighs open. Compared to Midnighter's and Slade's enhanced strength, the boy's attempts to break free are softer than the flutter of butterfly wings.

"Darling, you know what I want," he tells Slade. "Not a hint of pain. Make him feel good. Let's start undoing some of that horrible conditioning."

"Yes, Master," Slade says. He holds the boy's head steady between his hands, expertly avoiding his teeth and kisses the slave's forehead, ignoring his snarls. "Don't worry, puppy. I'll make sure you enjoy yourself."

He grabs a handful of the boy's hair and moves his head aside to nibble down the boy's neck and collarbone. He pays special attention to the spots that have the boy faltering in his struggles or jerking in surprise. The hollow of his throat, the edges of his collarbone, the sensitive skin over his carotid, his nipples, the soft slope of his pecs, where the muscles give way to the long flat plane of the boy's stomach.

Apollo hushes the slave, holding him open for Slade's mouth, as the older gem coaxes the boy into hardness, ignoring his whimpers and pleas. Slade laps around the boy's belly button, down his belly until the base of his cock. He mouths at the boy's slowly rising length before taking it into his mouth and sucking. The boy's hips hitch up against his will and tears run down his face, a litany of broken noes, and sorries, falling from his lips like rain.

"Oh, sweetheart, don't cry," Apollo soothes him. "It's all right to enjoy it. You're a gem, sweet thing, pleasure is what you've been made for. Hush." He kisses the side of the boy's neck, sucking at that particularly sensitive spot under his jaw Slade discovered earlier. The kid's hips cant up faster. "Look at you, so pretty. That's it, sweetheart, just like that."

Slowly, the slave's sobs become whimpers before they turn into moans. He pants, straining against Apollo's hold, not to get away but to push into Slade's mouth.

Slade bobs his head faster and Apollo shifts, freeing a hand to play with one of the slave's nipples, rubbing against it until it tightens. He pinches it softly and the kid spasms, giving a little yelp. His body arches and he grinds against the back of Slade's throat, as deep as he can go. He comes with a pained cry, as if someone is ripping out his soul.

Slade swallows and sucks him through his orgasm, milking him dry, until the slave's thrusts taper off and he slumps against Apollo, crying silently. Slade lets his cock go with a wet pop, kisses the boy's belly button and kneels up.

"Thank you, darling," Apollo tells Slade, "that was perfect." He disentangles himself from the listless slave and carries him towards Midnighter, placing him on Mid's lap. "Hold him for me, love."

Midnighter's hugs the boy and mumbles sweet nothings to him while his hands travel up and down the boy's sweat drenched back soothingly. Apollo grabs one of Midnighter's ankles and pulls him down, away from the headboard, until he's lying in the center of the bed with the boy resting on top of him. He spreads the new slave's legs open and pushes his knees up, rearranging him until his soft cock is aligned with Midnighter's and the crease of his ass opens, showing off its pink puckered hole.

"Fetch me the oil," he tells Slade.

Midnighter's eyes widen and he looks at Apollo pleadingly. He opens his mouth only to close it, and whatever protest he was about to make dies on his lips.

Apollo lowers himself and brushes his lips over Midnighter's forehead. "You know it needs to happen, love. I have to complete the binding."

Midnighter closes his eyes and buries his head into the slave's neck, hugging him tighter, and refuses to look at Apollo.

Apollo kisses his cheek a final time before he moves away. He takes the oil from Slade and smears it over his fingers.

"Hold him down," he whispers to Slade and points to the boy. 

Slade shifts to the top of the bed obediently and kneels behind Midnighter's head, knees spread, hard cock straining against his stomach. He places his hands on the boy's shoulders and caresses the sides of his neck with his thumbs. It's a soft pin, barely any pressure at all.

Apollo pours some of the oil over the boy's crack and the boy jerks, startled, the motion aborted by Slade's hands holding him down. The boy whines and tenses.

"Just let it happen," Midnighter murmurs in his ear, caressing his back. "It'll be over soon." 

The boy presses his head into Midnighter's neck, while Apollo pushes one oil-slicked finger into his hole. The slave gasps and goes limp, melting against Midnighter, the tension leaving his body. His hole yields under Apollo, swallowing his finger without resistance.

Apollo's toes curl with want and his cock jumps. He loves fucking into Midnighter's tight asshole, but there's something deliciously filthy about thrusting into a loose, well-used hole. And the boy's hole is _well-used_. Apollo shoves a second finger inside easily, and when he scissors them, the muscles give, opening wide enough that he can let the oil trickle directly into the boy's gaping hole. Apollo's cock hurts with how hard he is watching the boy's asshole drink the oil up.

He lets the bottle fall and pushes three fingers into the slave, stroking him from the inside. "You're sopping wet, sweetheart. If I hadn't seen your little cocklet fucking into Slade's mouth, I'd think they sold me a girl."

The boy pushes into Apollo's fingers and clenches his ass, trying to make himself tight. So well trained. Apollo pulls his fingers out and shove them back in, curling them around until he finds the boy's prostate. He rubs it gently and the boy shudders, panting against Midnighter's neck.

Apollo sets a slow pace. Dragging his fingers against the boy's prostate as he pulls out and jabbing their tips into it when he pushes forward. Soon, the boy's moaning, hips pushing into his touch. Apollo works a fourth finger in slowly. The boy's ass clenches around him, hot and slick with the oil. Apollo opens his fingers slightly and closes them again, pressing in, trying to pinch the boy's prostate between their tips.

The boy cries out and his hips buck. Apollo eases some of the pressure and moves his hand slowly out before he pushes back in again. Deeper. With his thumb, he presses up against the boy's taint massaging the boy's prostate from the outside. The slave screams and arches his head, straining against Slade's hold. 

"Am I hurting you, sweetheart?" Apollo asks, easing back out. 

The slave's too far gone to answer, drowning with the intensity of it. Apollo tugs at the faint link connecting them, letting the magic start to gather.

"Our master asked you a question, puppy," Slade says, holding the boy's head up by his hair. "Are you in pain?"

"N-no," the boy garbles.

"Does it feel good, sweetheart?" Apollo pushes back in. Ever so slowly he presses his fingers against the boy's gland and then his thumb follows, pushing up from the outside, kneading it.

The boy gasps, coiled and tense, body quivering with need.

"Answer me, gem." Apollo squeezes the boy's prostate a bit harder as he increases the flow of magic. "Does it feel good?"

"Yes! Yes," the boy whines. "Please. I'm sorry."

Apollo pulls his hand out and strokes his cock, smearing it with oil. He hefts the boy's hips higher and presses his thumbs into the slave's hole, spreading it. He pushes the head of his cock against it. It slips a couple of times, dipping slightly into the slave's asshole before it slides away. Apollo opens the boy wider and the slave keens, bearing down. The tip of Apollo's cock slots in and he presses forward. The rim stretches around him, opening up as Apollo forces his way in in one long steady push until he bottoms out, hips flush against the boy's asscheeks.

They boy pants and moans, ass clutching tightly around Apollo. Instinct or training, Apollo doesn't care; it feels fantastic. He holds the boy's hips steady and pulls out in a slow drag, until just the head of his cock is inside the boy, keeping him open. He snaps his hips forward and pulls the boy towards him, slamming against his ass with a wet sound.

"I'm sorry, please," the boy begs, trying to push himself up, but Slade keeps him down, pressed against Midnighter's neck. Apollo pulls out and rams back in, fucking into the slave with abandon. He's so open, so wide, so wet. Apollo's cock hits his prostate and the boy's half broken apologies turn into a breathless moan. Apollo does it again.

He fumbles with his hand until he finds the boy's cock. It's already half-hard. The kid's struggles increase when Apollo takes hold of him and strokes him with an oil-slicked hand into full hardness.

"Stop fighting, sweetheart," Apollo grunts. "You'll take pleasure from me like you took pain from your former master. You have no say in it. Accept it." He pumps the boy's cock, merciless, while he fucks into him with the same punishing rhythm.

The boy cries out, but he stops struggling, and the link between them opens wider as Apollo overwhelms him with pleasure.

"Let go of him," Apollo tells Slade and sits back on his hunches, pulling the boy with him, taking his weight off Midnighter.

He grabs Midnighter's ankles and drags him down, hefting his legs up and putting Midnighter's calves on the boy's shoulders.

Mid gives a surprise little yelp, and tries to move away, but Apollo keeps him in place. "Settle down, love, or you're going to end up hurting the boy." Midnighter freezes and swallows. Apollo strokes the boy's cock again, slicking it further, and guides its tip into Midnighter's asshole.

The kid pants and tries to move away, but he's impaled on Apollo's cock and there's nowhere for him to go. Apollo pushes his hips forward and the slave's cock breaches Midnighter.

"Ever felt anything so tight around your cock before, sweetheart?" Apollo asks.

The boy shakes his head, watching mesmerized the place where his cock is disappearing into Midnighter's ass.

Slade snorts. "Probably never felt anything around his cock at all with that master of his."

A shudder of pleasure travels up Apollo's back. "Is that true, sweetheart? Is this the first time that cocklet of yours is getting wet?"

The slave nods, and Midnighter's gaze darkens. He clenches around the slave, bearing down. 

"Do you like that, love?" Apollo asks Midnighter. "Do you like that you're our boy's first? You know what they say, boys always remember their first piece of ass. No one has ever made him feel so good before. Isn't that right, sweetheart?"

The new slave whimpers and thrusts, unable to help himself. Apollo slams into him, pushing him deeper into Midnighter. "Does it feel good? Answer me!"

"Yes," the slave moans.

Apollo rewards him by pulling him back onto his cock before slamming him forward into Midnighter and back onto him. He presses himself into the boy as deep as he can go and hammers back into Midnighter. Whatever rhythm the boy might try to establish for himself falters under Apollo's strength. He pushes into Midnighter when Apollo drives forward and withdraws from him when Apollo pulls back. It's as if Apollo is fucking Midnighter through the boy, like the kid's cock is just an extension of his.

"That's it, love, take it," Apollo grunts, watching Midnighter come undone under them. The magic rises from Apollo, seeking to complete the bond, that last missing step after the branding. His bond with Midnighter is singing with pleasure in the background, too. It's almost too much, and yet not enough. He wants, he wants… something is missing.

His eyes find Slade, who is still kneeling behind Midnighter's head, watching them hungrily. And all of a sudden, Apollo feels him, too, his need sharp and demanding in the back of Apollo's mind. 

"Come on, Slade. Fuck his mouth." Apollo urges the boy forward, pressing against his back. 

Slade doesn't wait to be told twice. He shifts closer and grabs the kid's head, pulling him down towards his cock. Midnighter groans as the new angle sends the boy's cock deeper into him. His calves dangle in the air, knees bracketing the boy's face. His hands search Apollo's and their fingers interlace. Apollo slams into him through the boy and Midnighter moans and clasps Apollo's hands tighter.

Slade keeps the boy inches away from his cock, and forces the slave to look up at him, twisting the boy's neck in an awkward angle. "If you bite me, puppy, I'm gonna make you regret it. Is that clear?"

Apollo sends a push of magic into the boy, letting him feel Midnighter's pleasure, Slade's need, Apollo's power. "Be a good doll for us, and suck Slade for me, sweetheart. Let him use that mouth of yours."

The kid opens his lips obediently and Slade feeds the boy his cock, pushing in until he hits the back of the boy's throat and then keeps going. The boy swallows and hums, mouth slack. Slade grunts, pulls a bit back and shoves back in.

"Just like that, sweetheart. You're being so good. You were made for this." Apollo rams into him. 

Slade's thick cock drags out of the boy when Apollo withdraws and soon, they're fucking the new slave together, pulling out and sliding back in at the same time. Apollo and Midnighter grab the boy's hips, fingers bruising skin, and hustle him back and forth. The kid shakes and moans, bouncing between the three of them like a puppet. Tears fall from his eyes, but he's rock hard, and when Apollo searches for him with his magic, the boy's drowning in pleasure, swamped by the intensity of it. 

It makes the next part so easy. Apollo searches the pieces of his magic lingering in the brand and pulls at them, feeding his light into the boy, strengthening the link. He chains the boy's will to him. This time, there's nothing there to fight his claim. No Napier. No Wayne. Not even the boy's own natural resistance. He's a blank canvas waiting for Apollo to give him purpose. Light pours from Apollo into the boy and when Apollo finally spills into him, orgasm seizing him, light floods the boy, branding him from the inside.

The slave convulses against Apollo, magic and pleasure pushing him over the edge. Midnighter cries out and grabs his own neglected cock, jerking himself with desperation, chasing his orgasm. Apollo wraps his hand around Midnighter’s and together they jack his cock until it spurts, painting the slave's belly and chest white. 

Slade holds the boy up by his hair and pulls his cock out from the slave's mouth, stroking it inhumanly fast until he spills all over the slave's face, thick lines of come landing on the boy's open mouth, his closed eyes, his cheeks. Slade pants, squeezing the last dribbles from his cock and then lets go of the slave's hair, and the ruined boy tumbles on top of Midnighter.

The kid lies there, panting, his face wet with tears and come, eyes glazed and vacant. Apollo pulls him up and the boy's cock slides free from Midnighter as he sags onto Apollo's lap.

Apollo brings his right hand to the slave's brand and chants, "I am your master and you are my gem." The brand heats up, pulsing with light as Apollo's magic flows through it. "You exist to answer my desire. Mine is the right to kindle your fire." The boy's mind opens for him, too exhausted and overwhelmed with the aftermath of pleasure to do anything but submit. "To my will only you shall kneel. Your pain and pleasure mine to wield."

"As you will it, so I am, Master," the boy chants back. Oh. Apollo didn't even have to force him. 

Apollo's mark flares with a blinding, intense light as Apollo's magic burrows into the boy, curling around his very soul, enslaving him. Making him _Apollo's_. Completing him. His life Apollo's to use and dispose of. 

"Oh, sweetheart, you are perfect," Apollo tells him, sending warm contentment down the newly formed link.

The boy clutches at Apollo's hand, pressing it tighter into his chest. "Master, thank you," he sighs, relaxing into Apollo's hold, riding that addictive high of being bonded once more.

Apollo slips free from the boy and lays him between himself and Midnighter, caressing his sweaty hair. Slade settles in at Apollo's back, closest to the door, always shielding them even though neither Apollo nor Midnighter need it. 

"Sleep if you want to, sweetheart," Apollo tells the boy, who's fighting the desire to doze off. They will need to clean up at some point, but right now, Apollo doesn't want to move. He's warm and comfortable, surrounded by his gems, exhausted from too much magic and too much pleasure.

"Jason," the boy whispers in a rough voice, still shaking slightly from the aftermath of the binding. "I--You asked if I had a name. My mom, she called me that. It's not what L-Lord Napier called me. He--"

Apollo puts a finger on his lips, quieting him. "He doesn't matter. Do you want to be named Jason, sweetheart?"

"If you desire it, Master," the boy says, which is admission enough.

"Then, sleep, Jason."

"As you will it, Master," he says, and closes his eyes, exhaustion pulling him under.

"As you will it, Master," Slade mocks, after the boy's breaths even into sleep. "Finally got yourself an obedient one."

"Don't be an ass," Midnighter tells him. "He's just been bonded. The magic screws with everyone's head. You were very sweet after the bonding, too."

"Hmm, very sweet indeed," Apollo agrees, remembering it fondly. Slade had fought it every step of the way, but once the bonding took… well. It is a powerful magic. 

"I'm not sweet," Slade protests.

"Really, darling, after today I thought you finally learned that you're anything I want you to be," Apollo tells him.

"If you wanted obedient, mindless gems you wouldn't bother with ferals," Slade points out.

Apollo chuckles, pressing back into Slade's broad chest and rearranging one of Slade's arms to function as a pillow. "Maybe you're right. I just love to see you struggle between defiance and obedience. Such a thin rope to balance on. But, darling, rest assured, if you fall I'll catch you and make you climb back on it. Never doubt it."

Slade presses his forehead against the back of Apollo's head. "I know, Master."

"And?" Apollo prompts.

"Thank you, Master," Slade and Midnighter chorus, defiant and mocking, and yet so very obedient in all the ways that matter. His sweet, perfect gems.

Apollo lets his pleasure travel down the link and they both press closer to him, like flowers seeking sunlight. Apollo sighs happily and closes his eyes. Tomorrow will come soon enough and his gems will still be there, waiting, ready to please Apollo with their defiance as much as they please him with their submission. After all, that's what gems exist for.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

El Fin. 

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [losing everything is what saves you](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26923177) by [akelios](https://archiveofourown.org/users/akelios/pseuds/akelios)




End file.
